O5E5 


JES51 


;, 


ER  AUSTEN 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

<1  i  3 

Class 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER 


MOSES    COIT   TYLER 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

1835-190x3 

SELECTIONS   FROM 
HIS   LETTERS   AND   DIARIES 


MADE   AND   EDITED   BY 

JESSICA  TYLER  AUSTEN 


ILLUSTRATED 


GARDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

MCMXI 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING   THAT   OF    TRANSLATION 
INTO   FOREIGN    LANGUAGES,    INCLUDING   THE   SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,    1911,    BY    DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE  &   COMPANY 


PREFACE 

The  following  material,  which  might  in  a  very  broad  sense  be 
called  an  autobiography,  is  made  up,  as  is  indicated  on  the  title 
page,  of  selections  from  the  letters  and  diaries  of  Moses  Coit  Tyler. 
When  they  were  written,  there  was  doubtless  no  thought  of  pub 
lication.  There  are  long  silences  in  the  diaries  and  no  attempt  has 
been  made  to  fill  these.  The  only  desire  has  been  to  let  my  father 
tell  in  his  own  language  as  continuous  a  story  of  his  life  as  possible. 
The  words  in  brackets  are  the  editor's,  all  the  rest  are  my  father's. 
I  wish  to  thank,  in  addition  to  the  members  of  my  own  family  for 
help  and  advice,  Miss  Lilian  Whiting. 

Ithaca,  N.  Y.  J.T.  A. 


226652 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOE 

I.  Parentage,  Birth,  and  Early  Life,  1794-1854        .  3 

II.  1854-1863 7 

III.  1863-1866 23 

IV.  1867-1869 34 

V.  1870-1871      ............  46 

VI.  1871-1872 64 

VII.  1873-1875      ............  77 

VIII.  1876-1879 97 

IX.  1880-1881      ............  107 

X.  1882 125 

XL  1883     . 177 

XII.  1884 188 

XIII.  1885-1886 198 

XIV.  1886-1887 204 

XV.  1888 211 

XVI.  1889 234 

xvii.  1890  .  .  .  ; .'.',">  252 

XVIIL  1891-1894 2<56 

XIX.  1895-1897      .     .     .     . 280 

XX.  1898 302 

XXL  1899-1900 ......  3i5 

Moses  Coit  Tyler 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Moses  Coit  Tyler Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Moses  Coit  Tyler  at  the  age  of  eight     .........        4 

Elisha  and  Mary  Tyler .    . 224 

Miss  Jeannette  H.  Gilbert .282 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER 


t 

\ 


Moses  Coit  Tyler 

CHAPTER  I 

PARENTAGE,    BIRTH,    AND   EARLY    LITE 
1794—1854 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER  was  born  August  2,  1835,  at  Griswold, 
Conn.,  and  died  December  28,  1900,  at  Ithaca,  N.  Y.  His 
father,  Elisha  Tyler,  captain  in  the  War  of  1812,  was  born  at 
Griswold,  Conn.,  November  2, 1794,  and  died  at  Detroit,  Mich., 
February  5,  1857.  His  mother,  Mary  Greene,  of  Quaker  stock, 
was  born  August  18,  1807,  at  Scituate,  R.  I.,  and  died 
February  2,  1894.  Elisha  and  Mary  were  married  March  9, 
1830,  and  had  nine  children,  Moses  being  the  fourth 
child. 

"It  is  the  voice  of  tradition,"  according  to  a  statement  of 
Elisha  Tyler's,  "that  during  the  early  settlement  of  New  Eng 
land  three  brothers,  named  Nathaniel,  Abraham,  and  Job,  coming 
from  England,  landed  at  Plymouth,  and  after  a  little  delay 
seated  themselves  on  a  log,  partook  of  their  refreshments,  arose, 
embraced  and  kissed  each  other;  then  each  went  his  way,  and 
it  saith  not  that  they  ever  again  met." 

This  was  about  1653.  One  settled  in  Virginia,  to  which  stock 
John  Tyler,  President  of  the  United  States,  is  said  to  have 
belonged;  one  in  the  New  Haven  Colony,  and  one  in  Andover. 
From  the  latter  stock  was  born  James,  son  of  Job  and  Hope- 
still,  who  afterward  removed  to  and  settled  at  Preston,  near 


COIT  TYLER 


Griswold.     Moses  Coit  Tyler  belonged  to  this  latter  branch, 
and  was  the  eighth  generation  from  Job. 

Elisha  Tyler  was  an  only  son  with  five  younger  sisters. 

Moses  Coit  Tyler  writes,  upon  reading  some  of  his  father's 
letters,  that  "they  give  an  impression  exceeding  what  I  ever  be 
fore  had  of  the  intellectual  grasp  and  the  literary  ability  of 
my  father.  It  is  tragic  to  think  that  in  his  early  life  he  longed 
to  go  to  college,  to  take  a  profession,  and  that  his  father  and 
mother  refused,  apparently,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  the  only 
son  and  must  stand  by  them  on  the  farm.  He  would  have 
made  a  name  in  the  world  and  would  have  been  a  power  for 
good.  He  was  a  high-minded  man  always." 

It  was  not  until  after  the  death  of  his  father  that  Elisha  was 
able  to  extricate  himself  from  home  ties;  and  it  was  not  until 
his  thirty-sixth  year  that  he  married  and  migrated  to  the  West. 
In  a  letter  to  his  son  Moses,  he  said:  "I  proposed  this  to  my 
father.  He  said  he  was  too  old  to  remove;  that  I  was  the  only 
son;  that  duty  required  me  to  remain  during  his  life;  that  when 
he  died  I  might  go  if  I  chose.  I  accordingly  remained  on  the 
old  homestead,  always  wishing  to  go  to  a  more  fertile  region,  but 
saw  no  way  to  do  it  and  keep  peace  in  the  family  and  discharge 
what  I  believed  to  be  duty." 

Late  in  life  he  writes  pathetically  of  his  failures:  "In  all  my 
pecuniary  transactions  I  have  used  my  better  judgments  to 
secure  a  fortune,  but  now  have  to  lament  that  at  the  age  of 
sixty-two  I  find  myself  and  family  poor,  and  nothing  very  pros 
perous  at  hand  for  the  future  of  any  of  us.  From  my  present 
standpoint  I  can  look  back  and  see  how  some  of  my  mistakes 
occurred  which  have  proved  so  disastrous,  and  can  as  easily 
see  how  a  different  course  would  have  given  me  possession  of 
millions.  You  will  probably  ask  why  I  should  thus  mistake. 
I  say  I  did  as  well  as  I  knew  how." 

In  1837  the  removal  of  the  family  to  the  West  began.    The 


MOSES    COIT    TYLER 
EIGHT    YEARS    OLD 

PAID    FOR    WITH    THE    FIRST    MONEY     HE 
EARNED  DRIVING  THE  COWS  TO  PASTURE 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  5 

long  journey  was  undertaken  by  easy  stages  and  long  halts,  as 
it  was  a  time  of  no  railroads  and  the  easiest  mode  of  conveyance 
was  by  the  Erie  canal.  They  first  went  to  Constantia,  N.  Y., 
which  was  reached  after  a  journey,  mostly  by  water,  of  two  days. 

Constantia  is  situated  on  the  west  shore  of  Oneida  lake. 
Elisha  Tyler's  interest  in  that  place  was  in  a  furnace  company 
of  which  he  became  a  member.  They  remained  there  only  a 
short  time,  when  he  made  known  his  intention  of  going  still 
farther  west,  and  of  visiting  Marshall,  Mich.  There  was  quite 
an  opening  at  this  time  in  Marshall  and  its  vicinity  for  the 
erection  and  use  of  flour  mills. 

The  prospect  of  having  some  interest  in  one  of  these  mills  or 
of  owning  one  was  his  chief  inducement  for  taking  this  long  and 
tedious  journey.  But  he  felt  that  his  faithful  Pompey,  brought 
all  the  way  from  Connecticut,  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
accordingly  he  performed  this  journey  in  his  own  conveyance. 
They  lived  consecutively  in  Burlington,  Union  City,  and  Detroit. 
To  this  latter  place,  which  was  the  last  move  ever  made  by  Elisha 
Tyler,  in  mid-winter  of  the  year  1843  he  drove  in  a  sleigh, 
"taking  with  him  all  his  family,  excepting  Charles,  who  went 
afoot  to  drive  the  cow,  a  distance  of  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles.  In  that  sleigh  were  placed  very  snugly  the 
mother  with  her  youngest  child,  John;  then  Edward  and  Olive 
and  Moses  and  Susannah  and  Rowland.  They  had  excellent 
sleighing  the  whole  way,  and  were  drawn  by  a  single  horse,  the 
incomparable  Pompey,  who  was  lost  and  found  not  long  after 
their  arrival  in  what  seemed  to  them  the  great  and  mighty 
city." 

When  Moses  was  fourteen  years  old  his  father  wrote  him: 
"You  are  aware  that  we  can  do  but  little,  and  that  you  will 
be  under  the  necessity  to  rely  principally  on  your  own  efforts; 
therefore  you  will  understand  that  indolence  you  cannot  afford 
to  tolerate  in  any  degree;  that  dig,  dig,  dig  is  the  order  of 


6  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

the  day  for  you.  I  should  not  urge  you  so  if  I  did  not  love  you 
and  feel  such  a  desire  for  your  prosperity." 

With  this  paternal  injunction  ringing  in  his  ears,  Moses  Tyler 
set  forth  in  1849,  a  mere  child,  to  make  his  way  in  the  world. 
A  cousin  at  this  time  wrote  of  him:  "I  think  Moses  has  the  most 
intellectual  face  in  the  family.  He  is  determined  to  be  a  scholar 
at  all  events.  We  shall  hear  from  him  some  time." 

His  struggles  continued  until  his  seventeenth  year,  when  he 
was  able  to  go  to  college.  He  went  first  to  Michigan  university, 
but  remained  there  one  year,  going  in  the  following  year  to  Yale. 
His  first  letter,  written  a  few  days  after  his  matriculation  at  the 
latter  place,  relates  his  experiences. 


CHAPTER  ir 

1854  —  1863 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MRS.  DORCAS  GREENE 

New  Haven,  Sept.  12,  1854 
MY  DEAR  AUNT: 

I  can  hardly  explain  what  twist  or  turn  of  the  wheel  of 
chance  it  was  that  the  time  I  spent  in  Rhode  Island  passed  away 
without  my  seeing  you  again  after  that  flying  call  I  made.  I 
no  more  supposed  that  that  should  be  my  only  visit  with  you  than 
that  I  should  fly  from  Cranston  to  New  Haven  in  mid-air.  But 
it  did  go  by,  and  I  left  Rhode  Island  without  taking  a  good  look 
at  you,  for  the  little  occasional  squint  I  got  of  you  that  day  was 
an  aggravation  rather  than  otherwise. 

I  have  been  here  several  days.  Our  term  begins  to-morrow 
and  the  students  are  pouring  in  at  a  numerous  rate.  It  is  proba 
ble  that  the  coming  class  will  be  a  very  large  one,  and  it  is 
a  singular  fact  that  at  no  time  since  the  foundation  of  old  Yale 
itself  have  there  been  so  many  Southern  students  presented 
for  admission.  This  is  all  the  more  remarkable  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  during  the  past  few  months  many  of  the  more  influential 
journals  of  the  South  have  denounced  the  college  in  the  most 
unmeasured  terms  in  consequence  of  the  bold  stand  which  was 
taken  by  the  faculty  in  the  Nebraska  question.  But  the  result 
of  the  outcry  against  the  college  seems  not  to  correspond  with  the 
design.  So  it  is  that  nothing  is  ever  lost  by  taking  a  firm  stand  on 
all  moral  questions  and  by  displaying  moral  courage  and  inde 
pendence  of  character.  .  .  .  Your  friend  Thomas  K.  Beecher 
was  in  the  city  last  Sabbath  but  did  not  preach.  I  saw  him  at  a 
distance  walking  rapidly  across  the  Green,  with  that  long  dark 
shawl  of  his  (which  belonged  to  Mrs.  B.)  trailing  behind  him  in 
the  wind.  I  sincerely  regret  having  never  made  his  acquaintance. 

Affectionately,  MOSES. 


8  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

[During  the  first  campaign  of  the  Republican  party  in 
the  summer  of  1856,  upon  a  visit  home,  Moses  Tyler 
stumped  the  state,  making  political  speeches  for  Fremont. 
These  long  journeys  from  New  Haven  to  Michigan  were 
not  numerous,  and  the  last  one,  made  under  painful  circum 
stances  in  the  winter  of  1857,  occurred  during  his 
senior  year,  after  receiving  a  letter  from  his  father  which  filled 
him  with  alarm.]  Moses  writes:  "My  father's  letter  written 
at  Detroit  was  received  by  me  at  New  Haven  on  Satur 
day  evening,  January  17;  and,  feeling  assured  that  he 
was  near  the  end  of  this  earthly  life,  I  instantly  packed 
my  travelling  bag  and  started  for  Detroit  via  train  to  New 
York,  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous  snow  storm.  There  I 
was  snow-bound  till  the  following  Tuesday  (20  Jan.),  hav 
ing  for  my  fellow-prisoner  my  new  friend,  Andrew  D. 
White,  then  on  his  way  to  Syracuse,  ostensibly  to  deliver 
his  lecture  on  Russia,  but  more  particularly  to  see  his  beloved, 
whom  he  afterward  married.  When,  at  last,  the  train  started, 
its  progress  was  so  slow  that  we  were  thirty  hours  in 
reaching  Albany.  By  that  time  the  track  had  been  cleared, 
and  I  was  enabled  to  get  to  Detroit  by  Friday  afternoon, 
January  23.  As  to  myself,  I  repeat  what  I  have  before  remarked, 
that  my  coming  to  Detroit  at  this  time  is  a  cause  of  much 
gratification.  It  seemed  a  great  journey  and  a  great 
expense;  but  twenty  years  from  now  the  thought  of  having 
seen  my  father  once  more  and  of  having  contributed  a 
little  to  make  his  downward  slope  more  happy,  com 
pared  with  these  other  considerations,  will  seem  too  big  for 
expression." 

[Moses  Coit  Tyler  was  graduated  from  Yale  hi  1857,  and, 
having  decided  to  become  a  minister,  at  once^entered  the  Yale 
theological  school,  studying  there,  and,  in  the  following  year, 
at  Andover,  Mass.] 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  9 

LETTERS  FROM  MOSES  TYLER  TO  HIS  MOTHER 

Yale  Seminary,  August  15,  1858 
MY  DEAREST  MOTHER: 

It  is  Sabbath  morning  and  I  am  enjoying  a  leisure  and  a 
rest  that  are  latterly  very  rare  for  me  upon  this  sacred  day. 
The  rain,  for  which  the  parched  earth  and  the  dust-browned  city 
have  been  begging  all  the  week,  is  coming  down  in  thin,  fine 
drops,  distilling  itself  silently  and  yet  swiftly  with  an  incessant 
flow.  Oh,  how  it  comes!  It  is  a  glorious  old  northeaster,  a 
watery  emblem  of  constancy  and  perseverance.  And  I  can 
scarcely  express  to  you  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  being  permitted  to 
spend  a  quiet  hour  talking  with  my  dearly  cherished  mother. 
I  know  you  feel  disappointed  in  not  seeing  me  this  summer,  and 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  I  should  rejoice,  did  all  circum 
stances  favor,  to  spend  the  summer  with  you.  Yet  it  does  not 
seem  possible.  And  so  I  suppose  we  must  just  take  it  as  it 
comes,  living  in  hope  of  that  good  time  coming  when  we  shall 
see  each  other  more.  I  have  had  many  pressing  invitations  from 
western  ministers  to  go  West  when  I  get  ready  to  settle.  And 
who  knows  what  may  turn  up?  How  nice  it  would  be  for  the 
mother  and  all  her  children  to  be  living  near  each  other  once  more. 

And,  my  dearest  mother,  you  must  not  give  yourself  up  to 
sadness.  I  know  how  lonely  you  must  feel  at  times.  The  wid 
ow's  heart  is  the  very  type  of  desolation.  And  there  are  doubtless 
many  things  occurring  in  the  friction  of  daily  life  to  disturb  and 
perplex  and  sadden.  But  cheer  up,  mother  dear!  Your  lot 
is  vastly  happier  than  most.  Every  year  now  will  tend  to  relieve 
you.  As  your  children  get  settled  in  life  they  will  find  homes 
for  you  in  so  many  spots,  where  each  shall  vie  with  the  other  in 
rendering  your  declining  years  peaceful  and  happy.  We  all 
love  you,  and  with  six  loving  children  upon  earth,  you  must 
not  feel  that  you  are  alone. 

I  mentioned  in  my  former  letter  your  writing  to  my  dear 
Jennie.  When  you  do  so  it  had  better  be  in  the  same  envelope 
with  a  letter  to  me,  as  that  would  seem  less  formal. 

In  little  over  three  weeks  I  go  to  Andover,  to  spend  the  coming 
year.  You  will  give  me  a  letter  before  then,  I  trust. 

'Your  affectionate  son  MOSES. 


io  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Andover,  October  24, 

MY  DEAREST  MOTHER: 

It  happened  that  your  good  letter  came  while  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  cares  and  toils  of  packing  up  my  effects  at  New 
Haven  and  getting  ready  for  moving.  And  I  had  put  it  down  in 
my  memorandum  paper  to  reply  immediately  after  I  reached 
here,  but  as  you  see  about  six  weeks  have  elapsed  and  I  am  only 
just  getting  about  it. 

I  have  not  had  any  letters  from  the  girls  since  my  arrival  here, 
and  from  Detroit  nothing  but  a  brief  note  of  a  few  lines  from 
Charlie.  So  I  am  even  less  posted  than  usual  in  regard  to  the 
recent  movements  of  the  beloved  ones  so  far  away. 

I  presume  you  have  heard  from  my  letters  to  others  in  the 
family  how  delightful  a  place  Andover  seems  to  me.  My  resi 
dence  is  most  agreeable.  So  far  as  daily  duties  and  natural 
scenery  are  concerned  I  have  all  that  heart  can  desire.  Every 
thing  is  pleasant,  genial,  just  to  my  fancy. 

I  often  think  of  my  dear  mother  and  wish  it  were  my  privilege 
to  see  you  oftener.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  older  I  grow  the 
more  sacred  become  the  names  of  home  and  dear  kindred. 
I  sometimes  get  to  musing  of  past  years,  of  the  long,  long  ago, 
at  Burlington  and  Union  City  and  the  Phillips  House  at  De 
troit,  and  the  pottery,  and  copper  stock,  and  of  all  those  scenes, 
sad  and  happy,  which  rilled  up  my  childhood.  And  then  the 
last  six  years  appear  to  me  like  a  dream,  and  I  wake  up  and  find 
all  things  changed,  our  home  broken  up,  our  beloved  father  and 
Eddy  gone  from  us;  and  then  ourselves  so  widely  separated. 
I  cannot  realize  that  we  are  the  same  persons  that  lived  and 
moved  in  that  old  familiar  stage,  ten  and  fifteen  years  ago,  and  I 
almost  lose  my  old  identity.  But  I  know  we  are  the  same  and  I 
hope  growing  better  and  fitting  ourselves  for  that  blessed  family 
gathering  above.  Though  I  have  deferred  writing  so  long,  I 
yet  hope  that  you  will  not  imitate  my  example. 

I  want  to  hear  from  you  very  much.  Tell  me  all  about  your 
health  and  your  daily  pursuits  and  feelings. 

Give  my  love  to  Susy,  Olive  and  Albert  and  John.  Ah,  when 
shall  I  be  out  of  debt?  Writing  that  last  name  brings  with  it 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  n 

a  twinge  of  conscience,  for  I  have  owed  that  dear  boy  a  long  time 
for  the  best  letter  he  ever  wrote. 

In  love,  your  son  MOSES. 

[Moses  Coit  Tyler's  marriage  to  Miss  Jeannette  Hull  Gilbert, 
of  New  Haven,  took  place  on  October  26,  1859,  and  of  this 
event  he  writes,  on  October  10,  to  a  bachelor  uncle  as  follows:] 

DEAR  UNCLE  EDWARD: 

When  I  left  you  last  May  it  was  with  the  resolution  good 
and  strong  that  you  should  hear  from  me  more  frequently  than 
in  the  past.  But  the  harvest  is  past  and  the  summer  is  ended 
and  still  I  have  not  done  it.  And  so  now  at  last,  in  anticipation 
of  an  event  which  is  to  happen  in  New  Haven  on  the  26th  hist., 
I  am  driven,  by  all  that  is  respectful  and  nephew-ly,  to  break  the 
silence. 

You  know  that  an  old  writer  saith  something  about  its  not 
being  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  Of  course,  I  do  not  quote  this 
to  you,  under  the  supposition  that  you  endorse  the  sentiment, 
but  merely  as  an  expression  of  my  own  condition.  Sure  am  I, 
at  least,  it  is  not  good  for  a  parson  to  be  alone,  and  that  is  at 
least  one  consoling  evidence  that  parsons  have  one  thing  in  com 
mon  with  human  beings. 

Now,  Uncle  Edward,  if  it  is  in  your  power  and  in  your  heart  to 
shake  off  the  confinement  of  home  for  a  little  airing  in  the  outside 
world,  come  over  to  the  Elm  City  and  see  us  "do  it." 

Affectionately,  MOSES. 

[The  following  letter,  written  after  their  marriage  by  his 
friend  Washington  Gladden,  was  characterized  by  Moses  Tyler 
as  the  funniest  letter  ever  written.  It  was  addressed  to  Charles 
Tyler,  of  Detroit,  and  is  as  follows:] 

Nov.  ii,  i£5p,  Owego,  N.  F. 
DEAR  SIR: 

A  man  calling  himself  Moses  Tyler  and  professing  to  be  a 
brother  of  yours,  who  has  been  preaching  in  the  Congregational 
church  of  this  village  for  some  time  past,  left  this  place  for 


12  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  Haven  on  or  about  the  24th  of  October  for  the  avowed  pur 
pose  of  getting  married.  On  the  28th  of  October  he  wrote  from 
Albany,  saying  that  he  had  been  married,  and  should  leave  that 
place  for  Niagara  on  his  way  to  Detroit  in  about  an  hour. 
Since  that  time  we  have  not  heard  from  him.  He  is  about  five 
feet  six  inches  high  —  broad  shouldered  —  has  very  light  hair 
—  walks  fast,  and  has  the  appearance  of  being  in  a  hurry  when  in 
the  streets.  He  has  a  youthful  appearance  —  could  not 
be  taken  to  be  more  than  twenty-one  years  old  —  and  a 
stranger  would  consider  him  remarkably  honest  and  disin 
genuous.  When  he  left  he  wore  a  suit  of  black  clothes  and  a 
black  silk  hat.  It  is  not  certain  whether  he  wore  any  under 
shirt  or  drawers  or  not;  his  washerwoman  has  not  been 
consulted. 

For  some  time  before  he  left,  it  was  noticed  that  his  deport 
ment  had  greatly  changed.  He  was  often  observed  gazing  in 
tently  upon  the  calendar  which  lay  upon  his  table,  and  making 
incoherent  remarks  about  some  event  of  which  he  was  appre 
hensive.  The  last  night  he  remained  with  us  his  conduct  was 
singularly  mild  and  mysterious;  and  we  are  in  great  fear  that 
he  may  have  been  led  by  some  hallucination  into  danger,  if  not 
destruction.  He  spoke,  when  he  went  away,  of  visiting  Niagara, 
and  we  are  afraid  he  has  been  led  to  attempt  to  rival  Blondin  by 
carrying  his  wife  (if  he  has  one)  across  the  river  on  his  back. 
At  all  events,  something  has  happened  to  him  or  we  should  have 
heard  from  him  before  this,  as  he  promised  us  many  times  before 
he  left  that  he  would  write  soon  and  often.  If  we  do  not  hear 
from  him  shortly  we  shall  proceed  to  expose  the  effects  which 
he  has  left  behind  him  for  public  sale.  They  are  as  follows: 
One  blue  horse,  four  years  old,  with  one  watch  eye  and  a  great 
proclivity  to  oats;  saddle,  bridle,  and  whip,  currycomb  and 
brush;  one  overalls  and  shirt;  half  a  bushel  of  oats,  more  or  less 
hay;  an  old  pair  of  boots;  a  shovel,  a  lamp;  an  old  straw  hat;  a 
few  quires  of  sermon  paper,  an  inkstand,  and  some  matches  in  a 
safe;  about  a  quarter  of  a  cord  of  wood,  and  a  large  circle  of 
mourning  friends. 

Doubts  having  been  expressed  by  his  landlady  and  others 
of  his  being  any  connection  of  yours,  and  great  anxiety  being 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  13 

felt  in  regard  to  his  whereabouts,  we  have  addressed  you  on  the 
subject.  If  you  know  anything  about  him,  please  inform  us 
instantly.  We  shall  not  advertise  him  until  we  hear 
from  you.  WASHINGTON  GLADDEN. 


[After  the  marriage  they  settled  in  Owego  for  one  year,  going 
in  September  of  1860  to  Poughkeepsie,  where  they  spent  the 
following  two  years,  until  overwork  caused  a  breakdown.  Aside 
from  his  own  ill  health,  this  was  to  him  a  time  of  special  anxiety, 
as  a  brother,  John,  had  enlisted  in  the  army.  This  brother 
was  among  the  first  young  men  in  Michigan  to  respond  to 
President  Lincoln's  call  for  volunteers.  He  served  through 
the  war,  attaining  the  honor  of  brevet  major  of  volunteers. 
He  was  engaged  in  battle  at  Campbell's  Station,  East  Tennessee, 
on  November  16,  1863,  where  he  was  twice  wounded,  one 
musket  ball  penetrating  through  his  left  side,  the  other 
through  his  left  forearm.  After  the  news  of  the  first  battle 
of  Bull  Run,  on  July  22,  1861,  Moses  Tyler  writes  of  these 
events:] 

It  is  about  six  o'clock  and  I  am  plunged  in  gloom  over  the 
tidings  from  Washington.  After  a  day  of  glory  came  a  sundown 
of  infinite  and  unmitigable  shame.  If  we  may  credit  the  tele 
grams,  our  soldiers  have  been  frightened  like  sheep,  and  ran  away, 
ignominiously,  from  the  phantom  of  a  teamster's  cowardly 
imagination.  O  horrors!  horrors!  horrors!  I  want  to  hide  my 
head  under  the  waves  of  the  sea.  But  there's  no  use  in  boo- 
hooing.  I  should  show  equal  cowardice  and  folly,  if  even  this 
damnable  transaction  could  take  away  my  faith  in  this  righteous 
cause.  No,  I  will  not  despair.  It  is  the  attribute  of  a  good  cause 
that  it  must  rise  mightier  even  from  disasters.  And  this  infamy 
shall  be  wiped  out.  I  have  watched  the  position  of  Johnny's 
division  throughout.  We  know  not  but  the  poor  boy  has  been 
slain.  I  see  it  stated  that  Colonel  Wilcox  is  killed.  Probably 
John's  regiment  was  in  the  thickest  and  deadliest  of  the  fight. 


14  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

0  God!  how  hard  it  is  to  think  of  his  possible  sufferings,  and 
how  hard  not  to  think  of  them.  Affectionately,  MOSES. 

[Of  his  resignation  from  the  pastorate,  Moses  Coit  Tyler 
writes  to  an  uncle,  on  November  14,  1862,  from  Boston,  as 
follows:] 

DEAR  UNCLE: 

I  proceed  to  say  that  after  my  return  to  Poughkeepsie  I  was 
again  taken  sick;  and  my  whole  state  seemed  so  weak,  incapable 
of  work,  and  perpetually  shivering  on  the  brink  of  good-for- 
no thingness,  that  I  was  thoroughly  disgusted  and  discouraged. 
Moreover,  the  doctors  told  me  what  my  own  consciousness 
confirmed,  that  this  sort  of  business  could  not  safely  go  on  a  great 
while  longer.  I  had  been  working  too  hard  for  some  years, 
and  this  more  recent  tendency  to  illness  was  only  an  alarm  bell 
informing  me  of  my  danger  of  completely  breaking  down.  I 
myself  thought  the  hint  was  getting  rather  too  broad  for  comfort, 
and  concluded  to  take  it  forthwith.  Jenny  was  anxious  that  I 
should  give  up  the  parish  work  and  go  away  to  recuperate. 
When  I  brought  the  matter  before  the  church,  they  urged  me  not 
to  resign,  but  take  an  indefinite  leave  of  absence;  they  would 
continue  my  salary  and  send  me  to  the  Mediterranean,  to  China, 
to  the  West  Indies,  and  I  presume  to  the  Devil,  if  they  believed 
the  old  gentleman  could  have  restored  me.  I  appreciated  their 
kindness  and  most  respectfully  declined  it.  I  did  not  wish  the 
church  to  hold  a  mortgage  on  me  to  such  an  extent.  The  upshot 
of  the  whole  business  was  I  came  to  Boston  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
with  Dr.  Dio  Lewis.  And  accordingly  here  I  am.  Thus  far 
the  experiment  works  well.  Freedom  from  the  exhausting  care  of 
a  parish,  together  with  the  healthful  exercises  of  Doctor  Lewis's 
gymnastic  system,  are  working  wonders  upon  me.  Already  am 

1  beginning  to  feel  myself  a  new  man.     I  keep  myself  as  cheerful 
as  I  can  under  the  circumstances.     What  I  shall  do  next  spring 
when  I  get  restored  I  do  not  exactly  know.    I  have  had  a  profess 
orship  informally  offered  me  in  Vassar  college  and  may  conclude 
to  accept  it.     I  have  abundant  openings  for  church  settlements, 
but  I  think  I  shall  bid  good-bye  to  clerical  life.     I  was  not  built 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  15 

for  a  parson.  If  I  had  a  little  cottage  and  a  few  acres  of  land,  I 
would  take  my  books  thither  and  devote  myself  exclusively  to 
literary  pursuits.  That  is  my  passion  and  I  think  my  mission; 
and  I  don't  think  I  shall  feel  like  home  until  I  get  into  some  such 
fix.  Meanwhile  I  am  going  to  work  for  that  end. 

Perhaps  for  a  year  or  so  I  may  devote  myself  to  this  new  pro 
fession  of  physical  culture.  Doctor  Lewis  is  anxious  that  I  should, 
and  assures  me  it  will  pay  handsomely.  But  time  will  tell. 

My  article  on  Vassar  College  has  had  better  success  than  I 
anticipated.  The  trustees  have  sent  me  an  extremely  compli 
mentary  letter  expressive  of  their  thanks  and  accompanied  by  a 
present  of  $50.  This  letter  is  all  about  myself,  not  from  any 
trivial  egotism,  but  because  your  kind  letter  indicates  such  an 
interest  in  me  as  renders  a  full  exposition  of  my  affairs  due  to  you. 
So  you  have  it  and  I  know  you  will  not  misinterpret  my  spirit. 

Affectionately,  MOSES. 

[On  December  14,  1862,  from  Boston,  Moses  Coit  Tyler  writes 
to  his  wife  of  the  events  at  Fredericksburg:] 

I  wrote  and  mailed  a  letter  for  you  this  afternoon;  and  finding 
myself  in  the  mood  I  will  improve  the  moments  before  bedtime 
by  spinning  out  a  few  more  lines.  My  heart  aches  with  anxiety 
to  know  how  Burnside's  splendid  dash  across  the  Rappahannock 
is  likely  to  succeed,  and  all  these  general  rays  converge  to  a 
searching  focus  in  the  thought  of  Johnny's  possible  fate.  The 
morning  papers  will  doubtless  contain  vast  news.  .  .  . 

I  learned  the  other  day  some  further  facts  about  Miss  Peabody. 
The  latter  has  during  her  life,  amid  the  activities  of  a  very  wide 
scholarship,  given  especial  attention  to  two  great  branches, 
theology  and  history.  She  is  a  gifted  linguist  and  has  written 
considerably  for  the  heavy  quarterlies  —  like  the  North  Ameri 
can.  She  was  very  intimate  with  Doctor  Channing  and  imbibed 
profoundly  his  ideas  upon  theology  and  has  studied  deeply  all 
systems  of  creed.  She  is  said  to  be  able  in  controversy.  In  history 
she  is  deeply  versed  and  has  for  years  had  advanced  classes  of 
students  in  that  department,  whose  reading  she  has  guided,  and 
to  whom  she  has  expounded  her  philosophy.  I  think  she  is  not 


16  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

free  from  the  necessity  of  earning  her  own  living,  which  she  has 
usually  done  by  teaching,  having  been  for  many  years  distin 
guished  in  Boston  by  her  enterprise  in  adopting  all  the  latest 
improvements  in  teaching.  I  think  she  is  a  remarkable  woman, 
although  a  sight  of  her  bulky  form  and  pulpy  face  and  watery 
eyes  and  a  few  minutes  spent  in  hearing  her  talk  about  kinder 
garten  would  not  particularly  impress  a  stranger.  She  seemed 
a  little  too  fussy  and  kinky,  but  I  doubt  not,  when  at  her  ease 
and  properly  drawn  out  by  stimulating  questions,  she  would 
reveal  both  learning  and  original  power. 

I  am  daily  more  impressed  with  the  right  of  Boston  to  the 
name  of  Athens.  It  is  the  brain  of  this  continent,  the  great 
idea-breeder  and  thought-radiator.  Great  scholars,  orators, 
poets,  philosophers  are  sprinkled  in  the  throng  of  the  streets; 
while  through  the  mass  of  the  people  are  diffused  an  intense  ac 
tivity  of  mind,  culture,  thought.  The  very  atmosphere  seems 
charged  with  floating  particles  of  intelligence  and  every  breath 
you  draw  an  inhalation  of  knowledge  with  the  stimulus  to  enjoy 
and  extend  it.  Dear  me!  Blessed  old  Poughkeepsie  seems  like 
a  big  Dutch  village  off  on  the  planet  Jupiter.  .  .  .  MOSE. 

LETTERS  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Boston,  December  17,  1862 

The  news  from  Burnside  is  very  discouraging.  The  retreat 
across  the  Potomac  is  so  different  from  the  glorious  anticipations 
we  had  been  indulging.  I  know  it  can  be  said  he  has  acted  pru 
dently,  doubtless,  but  the  state  of  things  which  makes  a  retreat 
prudent  is  the  very  thing  at  which  I  mourn.  I  fear  that  we  have 
neither  statesmen  nor  warriors.  I  cannot  but  admire  the  mag 
nificent  conduct  of  the  Southern  chieftains  both  in  council  and 
in  fight.  They  are  vigilant,  ingenious,  unerring.  Nothing  but 
the  wickedness  of  their  cause  can  ever  defeat  them.  But  enough 
of  politics.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  John  since  the  recent 
battles,  but  presume  he  is  safe.  Had  it  been  otherwise  we  should 
have  heard. 

Last  Saturday  evening  I  was  sitting  in  the  Public  Library 
when  a  tall  man  entered  and  commenced  looking  at  the  papers. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  17 

I  instantly  thought,  that  must  be  Emerson.  I  had  never  seen 
anything  but  the  engraving  of  his  face.  I  was  not  mistaken,  as 
I  afterward  learned.  It  is  pleasant  to  live  where  such  things 
are  apt  to  heave  in  sight  occasionally.  I  am  getting  to  be 
Boston-cracked,  as  you  perceive.  .  .  .  MOSES. 

Boston,  1 8  Dec.,  1862 

MY  OWN  DEAREST  WlFE: 

Public  affairs  seem  shrouded  with  gloom.  The  loss  on  our 
side  from  last  Saturday's  battle  proves  to  be  vastly  greater  than 
was  anticipated.  Fifteen  thousand!  Ugh!  How  dreadful! 
I  spent  last  evening  with  Mr. .  It  was  a  brilliant  assem 
blage.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Miss  Peabody,  who  was  there, 
and  found  her  conversation  very  interesting.  She  is  a  scholar, 
and  it  is  a  rare  treat  to  hear  her.  The  first  impression  of  not 
exactly  liking  her,  which  I  before  alluded  to,  wore  off.  She  told 
me  a  great  deal  about  Emerson,  his  personal  and  domestic  life, 
his  habits  of  study,  writing,  conversation,  etc.  She  has  had  a 
long  acquaintance  with  him,  has  even  lived  in  his  family.  He  is 
possessed  of  a  snug  little  property,  leads  the  life  of  a  philosopher, 
is  the  most  faithful  and  accurate  man  in  the  discharge  of  all  the 
duties  of  life.  He  always  writes,  instead  of  reads,  when  the  spirit 
moves,  believing  that  his  chief  function  is  as  a  producer  of  thought 
but  he  is  besides  an  immense  reader  in  old  English,  German,  Orien 
talism,  and  in  the  natural  sciences.  He  has  a  singular  mode  of 
composing.  He  keeps  a  great  blank  book  which  he  calls  his 
diary;  in  this  he  writes  all  thoughts  which  come  into  his  mind 
from  day  to  day.  It  is  the  diary  of  his  intellect.  He  lets  his 
pen  run  on  in  this  book  at  its  own  sweet  will,  and  the  book  thus 
constitutes  a  kind  of  store  house  of  all  his  best  thoughts  in  their 
freshest  expression  as  they  rise  in  glory  in  his  mind ;  and  it  is  by 
picking  out  sentences  from  his  book  that  all  his  essays,  lectures, 
etc.,  are  made  up.  He  is  a  great  walker;  goes  out  every  day  in 
the  woods,  in  which  he  delights  to  wander.  His  family  is  an 
absolutely  happy  one,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  one  son  and 
two  daughters.  I  know  that  there  are  so  many  children,  and 
perhaps  there  are  more.  He  is  very  mirthful  at  home  and  on 
terms  of  beautiful  familiarity  with  his  children,  by  whom  he  is 


i8  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

worshipped.  It  is  indeed  a  happy  family  —  well  provided  for, 
industrious,  loving,  and  enjoying  literature,  music,  and  art. 
Mrs.  Emerson  is  a  noble  woman,  very  domestic,  but  in  poor 
health. 

Mr.  Emerson  is  the  most  rigidly  truthful  man,  loathing  all 
exaggeration  and  inaccuracy  of  statement.  While  he  is  a  tran- 
scendentalist  and  a  poet,  he  does  not  think  himself  free  from  the 
obligations  he  is  under  as  parent,  neighbor  or  citizen.  He  is 
not  so  much  wrapped  in  his  own  sublimities  as  to  forget  the  plain 
everyday  duties  of  life.  He  watches  all  political  movements; 
keeps  in  close  touch  with  the  progress  of  the  war.  He  is  a  round, 
full,  harmonious,  and  beautiful  character,  a  great  good  man.  He 
is  remarkable  for  his  punctuality  in  keeping  engagements,  etc.  I 
have  thus  thrown  together  the  outlines  of  what  Miss  Peabody 
told  me  of  Emerson.  There  were  many  details  which  fill  up 
this  skeleton  which  I  cannot  make  room  to  write,  but  you  may 
well  imagine  that  I  was  deeply  interested  in  listening  to  such 
an  enthusiastic  and  appreciative  friend  of  the  great  philoso 
pher.  .  .  .  THY  HUSBAND. 

Boston,  22  Dec.,  1862 

.  .  .  The  wildest  stories  are  flying  about  revolutions  in  cabi 
nets  and  disasters  in  the  field.  I  am  sick  of  them.  This  nation 
might  be  saved  by  the  exertions  of  some  splendid  genius.  Alas ! 
none  such  has  appeared.  Red  tape  and  rottenness  are  all  we  have 
to  save  us.  I  would  I  could  lay  my  heart  to  sleep  till  this  imbe 
cility  were  passed.  But  I  take  that  back.  It  is  a  cowardly  wish. 
We  are  in  a  dark  period.  I  have  been  intending  to  give  you 
an  account  of  my  evening  call  at  Mr.  Garrison's,  but  while  it  was 
fresh  in  my  mind  I  did  not  do  it;  and  now  I  do  not  feel  like  it. 
I  must  wait  till  the  spirit  moves. 

YOUR  LOVING  HUSBAND. 

Boston,  December  26, 1862 
MY  DARLING: 

I  am  invited  to  spend  the  evening  at  the  Garrisons'.  I  believe 
there  is  to  be  a  little  company  there,  among  others  Wendell 
Phillips.  I  shall  try  to  give  you  some  description  of  it  to-mor- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  19 

row.  Mr.  Garrison  himself  is  a  lofty  and  lovely  nature,  full  of 
divine  benevolence,  and  radiating  kindness  upon  all.  If  every 
body  could  know  him  there  would  not  be  a  reviler  of  the  Apostle 
of  Abolitionism  left  upon  the  earth.  .  .  .  MOSES. 


Boston,  Dec.  27,  1862 
MY  DARLING: 

As  I  told  you  yesterday  of  my  expectation  to  spend  the  even 
ing  at  Mr.  Garrison's,  I  went  accordingly.  The  party  was 
somewhat  different  from  my  anticipations,  being  mostly  of  young 
people.  Mr.  Phillips  was  not  there.  There  was  nothing  unique. 
It  was  mostly  a  pleasant,  chatty,  gamesome,  musical  sociable. 
I  was  inducted  into  the  awful  mysteries  of  muggins,  which 
doubtless  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  yours.  I  had  no  special 
conversation  with  Mr.  Garrison,  which  would  have  been  an  en 
joyment  prized  above  anything  else.  The  colloquial  speech  of 
a  gifted  and  cultivated  man  seems  to  me  the  greatest  luxury  to 
enjoy.  Next  Friday  our  normal  course  begins,  much  to  my  joy. 
It  will  seem  like  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  my  exile  from 
you.  .  .  .  THY  HUSBAND. 

Boston,  Jan.   i,   1863 

The  first  letter  of  the  year,  my  darling,  let  me  dedicate  to 
you.  I  remember  to  have  seen  a  letter  by  John  Adams  to  his 
wife  on  the  day  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  After 
alluding  to  the  event,  he  predicts  that  future  generations  will 
celebrate  the  day  with  the  ringing  of  bells,  with  bonfires,  and 
all  the  other  methods  of  popular  jubilation.  I  think  the  date 
at  the  top  of  this  letter  is  the  greatest  one  for  America  and  perhaps 
for  the  human  family  since  July  4,  1776.  To-day  goes  forth  that 
glorious  edict  which  strikes  off  the  chains  of  those  millions  of 
slaves  and  liberates  the  nation  from  the  viler  slavery  of  a  terrible 
iniquity. 

The  BOL  ,iians  are  giving  the  day  a  fitting  welcome.  Tre- 
mont  Tempie  is  open  all  day  and  speeches  are  being  made  by 
Fred  Douglass  and  others.  Music  Hall  was  filled  this  afternoon 
by  a  highly  fashionable  audience  to  listen  to  a  magnificent  mu- 


20  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

sical  performance  in  honor  of  the  day.  It  is  under  the  auspices 
of  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Emerson,  Whittier,  and  Holmes  and 
others.  THY  HUSBAND. 


Boston,  8  Jan.,  1863 

I  had  the  pleasure  this  afternoon  of  calling  on  Wendell  Phillips. 
He  lives  near  Doctor  Lewis's  office  in  a  plain  three-story  double 
brick  house.  He  is  a  very  rich  man  by  inheritance  and  marriage, 
but  his  residence  is  of  the  commonest  appearance  without  and 
within.  I  understand  that  his  income  is  about  $15,000  per 
year.  He  is  very  liberal  to  the  poor,  especially  to  the  Negroes, 
though  his  charities  are  by  stealth.  There  is  a  beautiful  fellow 
ship  between  the  anti-slavery  people  of  New  England,  and  Mr. 
Phillips  is  beloved  and  honored  by  them  almost  to  adoration. 
Perhaps  you  have  heard  that  Mrs.  Phillips  has  been  an  invalid 
all  her  life.  She  was  marrried  in  her  bed  and  has  remained  there 
ever  since.  It  is  said  that  Mr.  P.  is  extremely  devoted  to  her, 
and  has  been  very  much  molded  by  her  sweet  and  restraining 
and  inspiring  influence. 

Mr.  Phillips  received  me  very  affably  and  in  a  manner  so 
simple  that  I  at  once  felt  quite  at  my  ease.  He  has  no  airs  nor 
pomposity,  but  is  frank,  cordial,  and  delicate.  I  had  dreaded  to 
approach  the  lion,  but  all  my  fears  fled  the  instant  he  opened 
his  lips. 

He  commenced  by  alluding  to  Poughkeepsie  and  telling  me 
he  was  to  lecture  there  to-morrow  night.  Then  the  conversation 
bore  upon  my  coming  to  Boston  and  the  general  subject  of  health. 
He  expressed  a  very  high  opinion  of  Doctor  Lewis  and  his  system: 
its  adaptedness  to  the  needs  of  the  world  at  this  time,  etc.,  etc. 
And  after  asking  me  if  I  intended  to  teach  it,  he  expressed  the 
opinion  that  there  was  in  it  a  great  field  for  usefulness  and  success. 
Then  I  asked  him  whether  his  own  health  through  life  had  always 
been  good  and  whether  he  had  taken  special  pains  to  preserve 
and  maintain  it.  He  replied  that  with  but  slight  exceptions  he 
had  always  had  excellent  health;  and  he  attributed  this  mainly 
to  care  as  to  his  food  and  drink,  and  what  Goethe  calls  "the 
talent  of  sleeping";  that  he  was  the  only  lecturer  save  Henry 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  21 

Ward  Beecher  who  had  maintained  a  long  career  of  lecturing 
without  breaking  down;  that  when  he  was  a  student  at  Cam 
bridge  he  was  very  zealously  devoted  to  the  arts  of  boxing  and 
fencing  and  horsemanship;  that  he  had  never  led  a  strictly  seden 
tary  life;  that  every  summer  he  took  a  long  free  vacation  of  eight 
or  twelve  weeks  which  he  devoted  to  swimming,  boating,  fishing, 
riding,  swinging  in  trees  in  the  woods,  etc.,  etc.,  but  that,  after  all, 
his  main  resource  was  upon  rest,  by  sleep  and  freedom  from  brain 
work;  that  Parker  utterly  neglected  his  health  and  cut  his  own 
grave  by  unceasing  toil,  never  relieving  himself  from  pulpit 
tasks  for  a  single  sermon  year  in  and  year  out,  till  Emerson  and 
he  persuaded  him  to  let  them  occasionally  preach  for  him. 

I  asked  him  whether  he  (Phillips)  came  back  from  lecturing 
campaigns  exhausted.  He  said  no,  but  quite  otherwise.  He 
would  be  off  six  or  eight  weeks  at  a  stretch,  but  slept  more  than 
half  the  time  on  the  cars.  He  gave  me  some  amusing  stories 
of  how  he  evaded  the  oppression  of  bores  on  the  cars  who  were 
inclined  to  pounce  upon  him  and  make  him  talk  and  waste  his 
strength  in  that  way.  He  had  found  that  a  French  book  or  a 
Greek  one  kept  back  inquisitive  people  much  better  than  an 
English  one,  they  seeming  to  be  awed  by  the  sight  of  his  reading 
a  volume  in  a  foreign  language.  He  said  that  Theodore  Parker 
always  carried  on  profound  studies  in  travelling,  among  others, 
learned  Russian  that  way;  that  for  his  own  part,  he  avoided  talk 
ing  in  the  cars  as  much  as  possible,  and  would  often  squelch  a 
bore  by  "going  very  politely  and  gracefully  to  sleep."  Our 
conversation  then  changed  and  —  lest  I  should  tempt  the  great 
orator  to  practise  upon  me  some  of  his  arts  for  the  extinguishment 
of  bores — I  rose  and  took  my  leave.  He  bade  me  good-bye  very 
pleasantly,  and  in  his  most  sincere  tones  urged  me  to  run  in  and 
see  him  often  while  I  was  in  Boston. 

I  have  thus  given  you  a  sketch  of  my  interview  with  Mr. 
Phillips.  You  must  remember  it  pretends  to  be  only  an  outline. 
It  does  not  represent  either  the  language  he  used  or  the  filling  up 
of  thoughts,  and  especially  the  exquisite  felicity  and  democratic 
grace  of  his  manner  —  his  bright,  serene,  intellectual  face  — 
his  playful  lips  and  speculative  eyes  —  and  the  fine,  relaxed 
naivete  of  his  postures.  Still,  defective  as  it  must  be,  I  thought 


32  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

you  would  be  pleased  to  have  a  description  of  this  interview  with 
a  man  of  illustrious  rank  in  the  world  whose  influence  upon  the 
destinies  of  American  civilization  has  been  and  will  be  incalcu 
lable  and  whose  name  will  be  one  of  the  few  shining  and  immortal 
legacies  of  this  age  to  posterity.  .  .  .  THY  HUSBAND. 

Boston,  i  Feb.,  1863 

...  I  went  this  A.  M.  to  Trinity  Church.  It  was  expected 
that  General  McClellan,  who  is  now  in  town  and  is  being  out 
rageously  lionized,  would  be  present;  and  on  this  popular  scent  an 
unusually  large  concourse  was  present  and  hundreds  stood  in 
the  street  about  the  doors  to  see  him  pass  in  and  out.  Alas!  they 
were  sold  and  I  too.  The  General  concluded  to  stay  away.  I 
am  very  anxious  to  see  his  face.  There  is  to  be  a  public  reception 
at  his  hotel  to-morrow  and  I  shall  run  the  risk  of  smashing  in 
my  ribs  in  order  to  see  him  and  shake  his  hand.  .  .  . 

THY  HUSBAND. 


Boston,  4  Feb., 

.  .  .  General  McClellan  is  receiving  great  attention.  He  is 
treated  like  a  prince.  I  had  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  him 
and  of  shaking  his  hand.  He  is  a  splendid-looking  fellow;  a  little 
shorter  than  I,  with  a  magnificent  form  in  its  proportions;  a 
frank,  generous,  open  face;  light  hair  and  moustache.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  III 

1863  — 1866 

[On  April  16, 1863,  Moses  Coit  Tyler  sailed  on  a  ship  called  the 
Victoria,  and,  after  a  voyage  of  eighteen  days,  landed  in  England, 
expecting  to  find  a  new  home  in  a  foreign  land.  He  established 
himself  in  London  for  the  next  three  years,  at  the  end  of  which 
tune  he  returned  to  America  to  accept  a  professorship  of  English 
literature,  at  Michigan  University.  While  living  abroad  he 
made  trips  for  lecturing  purposes  into  Wales,  and  many  corners 
of  England,  at  the  same  time  getting  acquainted  with  the  people 
and  the  life.  Besides  lecturing  and  teaching,  during  this  period, 
he  wrote  continuously  for  the  Independent  and  other  New  York 
papers,  thus  gradually  making  a  name  for  himself.  Soon  after 
his  arrival  in  London,  in  a  diary  letter,  he  chronicles  his  first 
impressions:]  "Here  I  am  in  the  greatest  city  this  earth 
ever  bore  up  on  its  shaky  crust!  You  know  I  told  you  I 
had  studied  the  map  of  London  so  much  that  I  thought 
I  could  find  my  way  if  I  were  suddenly  set  down  in  the  city. 
Now  was  a  good  opportunity  to  try.  I  had  nothing  to  carry. 
I  had  been  told  of  good  lodgings  at  n  Craven  street,  Strand. 
Very  well,  I  said  to  myself,  I  will  just  try  to  walk  there  without 
asking  anybody  how  to  go,  and  I  did  it.  I  landed  at  Euston 
Square.  I  knew  the  names  of  the  streets  I  wanted  to  pass 
through  to  get  to  Craven  street,  and  I  just  walked  out  of  the 
depot  as  familiarly  as  if  I  had  been  there  fifty  years,  identified 
street  after  street  as  I  came  to  it,  went  directly  to  Craven  street, 
and  to  No.  n,  rang  the  bell,  called  for  Mrs.  Henley,  said  'How  do 
you  do?'  and  went  to  my  room,  where  I  sit  now  perfectly  at  home." 

33 


24  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  June  j,  1863.  It  is  now  quite  late.  I  have  been 
out  this  evening  to  quite  a  brilliant  party  at  Dr.  Brown-Se- 
quard's,  where,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  had  the  honor  of 
preaching  a  little  Muscular  Christianity,  and  of  explaining  the 
methods  of  the  new  gymnastics.  Dr.  Brown-Sequard  is  an 
eminent  French  savant,  a  great  medical  writer,  and  in  large 
practice  as  a  physician.  His  wife  is  an  American  lady,  a  niece 
of  Daniel  Webster.  Dr.  Brown-Sequard  has  great  influence, 
and,  if  he  throws  it  in  my  favor,  can  be  of  immense  benefit  to 
me.  He  seemed  highly  pleased,  and  said  he  should  soon  call 
upon  me  for  assistance  (as  he  expressed  it)  in  connection  with 
some  of  his  patients. 

London,  June  7,  1863.  This  is  quite  an  era  in  my  history. 
I  have  been  to  hear  the  famous  Spurgeon  in  his  new  tabernacle. 
It  is  an  immense  stone  edifice  and  holds  seven  thousand  people, 
and  is  filled  every  Sunday  morning  and  evening.  I  was  greatly 
pleased  with  the  interior  of  this  great  temple.  It  is  plain  and 
simple,  but  very  grand;  has  a  bright,  airy,  cheerful,  sunny  look. 
It  is  very  long,  and  has  two  huge  galleries  running  around  the 
four  sides.  It  is  a  finer  spectacle  even  than  Beecher's.  Every 
space  from  floor  to  ceiling  seems  filled  with  human  heads.  Spur 
geon  himself,  surrounded  by  men  and  women,  stands  on  a  great 
scaffolding  or  platform  very  high  up.  The  singing  is  con 
gregational  and  tremendous.  They  have  a  precentor  who  has 
a  rich,  loud  voice.  There  is  no  organ  or  other  artificial  instru 
ment  of  sound;  but  seven  thousand  throats  pouring  forth  their 
notes  in  one  vast  current  make  a  volume  of  sound  which  would 
almost  drown  the  loudest  organ.  As  to  Spurgeon  himself, 
he  is  certainly  a  powerful  and  able  man,  but  a  thousand  leagues 
behind  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  I  think  his  success  is  owing  to 
his  voice,  which  is  rich  beyond  praise  and  modulated  with  great 
beauty;  to  his  downright  earnestness,  singleness,  boldness,  and 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  25 

honesty;  to  his  amazing  fluency  of  speech;  to  his  tact  and  knack 
of  putting  things.  But  he  has  absolutely  none  of  Beecher's 
breadth  of  philosophic  thought  and  ideality  and  spiritual  crea- 
tiveness.  Consequently  his  prayers  are  commonplace,  straight 
forward,  and  rather  dictatorial  hortations  to  somebody  called 
God,  but  utterly  destitute  of  the  soul-lifting  simplicity,  pathos, 
and  poetic  beauty  of  Beecher's,  that  exquisite,  wonderful, 
empyrean  spirituality  and  tenderness  of  filial  reverence  which 
make  one  of  Beecher's  prayers  worth  going  around  the  globe 
to  hear. 

Then,  Spurgeon's  sermon  was  just  like  those  published,  glib, 
felicitous,  having  hits  and  sharp  points,  but  narrow,  textual, 
absolutely  barren  of  thought,  simply  a  well  put  exhortation  and 
a  very  good,  pious  talk. 

London,  November  4,  1864.  Lectured  on  American  oratory 
at  Mr.  B.'s  school  at  seven.  Before  the  lecture,  sitting  in  the 

parlor,  was  introduced  to  a  slight,  pale  lad,  Lord  K .      He 

has  special  privileges;  seems  not  to  occupy  the  boys'  mess- 
rooms,  etc.  Never  having  shaken  hands  with  a  lord,  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do  when  the  introduction  was  pronounced.  He 
instantly  rose,  most  cordially  and  without  patronizing  gave  me 
his  hand.  I  had  quite  a  chat  with  him.  He  had  the  perfect 
courtesy  of  a  true  gentleman  of  rank;  but  in  thought  and  ex 
pression  indicated  perhaps  less  than  the  average  force.  Mr.  B.? 
in  private,  criticised  America  in  the  usual  fashion  which  I  have 
heard  ad  nauseam.  He  is  like  all  the  rest  on  the  American 
question,  an  Englishman  with  an  infinite,  quiet  complacency, 
liking  to  preach  to  America  of  humility. 

London,  December  16,  1864.  Returned  from  Barnet  this 
p.  M.,  with  Mrs.  Bayly,  author  of  Ragged  homes  and  how  to 
mend  them.  She  told  me  the  story  of  Mrs.  Balfour's  life. 

Mrs.  Balfour  was  born  of  wealthy  and  highly  respectable  par- 


26  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

ents;  was  sent  to  boarding-school,  where  her  voracious  tastes  for 
reading  extended  beyond  the  privileges  of  the  school.  A  servant 
boy,  who  cleaned  the  girls'  boots,  used  to  smuggle  to  her  such  con 
traband  literature  as  she  chose  to  order;  and  when  she  was  only 
sixteen  years  old  she  ran  away  with  this  boy  and  was  married. 
Her  friends  totally  repudiated  her,  and  she  sank  out  of  notice. 
Years  after,  walking  through  some  poor  street,  Doctor  Burns  saw 
a  woman  cleaning  the  doorsteps.  He  judged  from  her  face  and 
bearing  that  she  was  not  born  in  such  a  station ;  he  spoke  with  her, 
learned  her  history,  and  at  once  tried  to  help  her.  He  discovered 
that  she  possessed  rare  powers  of  mind,  and  he  urged  her  to  write 
for  the  press  or  to  lecture.  That  poor  woman  is  now  the 
renowned  Clara  Lucas  Balfour!  "But,"  said  I,  "are  not  her 
relatives  now  proud  to  own  her?"  "Oh,  no;  they  look  upon 
lecturing  as  very  common!"  In  that  sentence  speaks  the  heart 
of  English  social  life. 

December  18,  1864.  London.  I  lectured  at  the  London 
Mechanics'  Institution  to-night.  I  incidentally  mentioned  the 
name  of  the  Confederate  General  Lee,  at  which  a  storm  of  cheers 
broke  out,  succeeded  by  hisses,  and  then  a  war  of  sounds 
tumultuous.  At  another  point  I  named  Abraham  Lincoln, 
at  which  many  hisses,  then  counter  cheers,  etc.  We  were 
expecting  to  get  the  news  this  evening  of  his  re-election. 

London,  December  21,  1864.  Met  this  evening  a  French  lady, 
Madam  Ver,  who  has  seen  much  of  the  nobility  and  distinguished 
people.  Has  met  Macaulay  and  Gladstone.  She  says  Macau- 
lay  talked  just  as  he  wrote,  a  stream  of  brilliant,  epigrammatic, 
sarcastic,  and  glowing  eloquence;  was  a  great  talker,  incessant. 
He  was  bearish  to  strangers  on  their  being  introduced.  Seemed 
to  know  that  they  were  staring  at  him;  and  had  a  gruff  way  of 
saluting  them  with  a  forward  lunge  of  his  head  and  whirling 
partly  around  in  his  chair  to  avert  his  face  from  them.  But 


MOSES  COIt  TYLER  27 

after  the  ceremony  was  over  and  the  ice  melted  he  was  most 
cordial,  kindly,  modest,  unassuming.  She  says  Gladstone, 
however,  is  always  far  gentler;  except  when  he  gets  upon  his 
political  horse,  when  his  eyes  flame  with  fire  and  his  tongue 
rolls  forth  torrents  of  excited  talk. 

London,  February  8, 1865.  Went  this  evening  to  a  reception 
at  Aubrey  House,  Netting  Hill.  Called  for  Moncure  Conway, 
and  was  conducted  in  by  him.  Conway  expects  great  harm  to 
our  cause  from  Louis  Napoleon,  who  is  waiting  for  the  humbling 
of  the  South  to  secure  his  own  terms,  get  them  under  his  grasp, 
and  thus  control  the  cotton  and  gold  fields  of  the  world.  The 
company  seemed,  to  my  novice  eyes,  quite  splendid.  Aubrey 
House  is  as  old  as  Queen  Anne's  time,  with  walls  three  feet  thick, 
and  is  near  the  celebrated  Holland  House.  Mr.  Taylor  told  us 
that  in  the  latter  a  cannon  was  fired  off  every  night  at  precisely 
eleven  o'clock.  This  suggested  to  some  one  the  story  of  the 
Irishman  who,  hearing  a  gun  discharged  in  a  garrison  and  being 
told  that  it  was  the  sunset  gun,  wanted  to  know  if  the  sun  made 
such  a  devil  of  a  noise  in  that  country  every  time  it  set.  Mr. 
Holyoake  was  there,  whom  Conway  described  as  the  most  cele 
brated  atheist  now  living.  He  is  a  fine,  intellectual,  brave 
looking  man,  with  a  woman's  voice  and  gentle  ways.  He  has 
gone  through  imprisonment  and  vast  obloquy  for  his  opinions. 
He  told  me  that  he  suffered  acutely  from  abuse.  Sometimes 
he  had  been  praised  and  applauded,  and  then  he  scarcely  knew 
how  to  take  it,  it  was  so  strange. 

London,  February  n,  1865.  This  morning  went  to  St. 
Peter's  Chapel  to  hear  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice.  I  made  out  the 
face  of  Thomas  Hughes,  whose  head,  hairless  upon  top,  peered 
just  above  the  pew  on  the  left  of  the  pulpit.  I  knew  him  from 
his  photographs.  I  was  surprised  at  the  curate  yawning  hugely, 


28  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

and  several  times  in  the  pauses  of  the  service  opening  his  jaws 
portentously,  and  the  last  time  covering  the  aperture  with  the 
hymn  book,  the  corner  of  which  he  proceeded  to  nibble  after  his 
yawn  was  completed.  What  could  not  some  Yankee  Trollope 
or  Zola  make  of  this?  The  whole  effect  of  the  sermon  was  to 
enrich,  sweeten,  humble  and  strengthen  the  spiritual  natures  of 
those  who  heard. 

Wales j  January  18,  1866.  After  reaching  Bristol  and  putting 
up  at  the  Bristol  eating  house  kept  by  a  T.  Gregor,  in  the  clean 
dining-room  upstairs,  to  my  surprise,  I  saw  as  I  entered,  hanging 
on  the  wall,  a  large  map  of  Auburn,  Cayuga  county,  New  York, 
date  1857.  In  this  distant  spot,  amid  so  many  strange  scenes, 
the  sight  of  it  was  like  the  face  of  an  old  friend.  I  have  been 
looking  at  it  with  delight.  I  find  huge  placards  all  about  the 
town  announcing  me  for  next  Tuesday  as  "The  Great  American 
Orator !"  On  the  train  I  went  into  a  smoking  carriage.  A  very 
glib  and  somewhat  flashy  young  gentleman  entered  soon  after 
and  commenced  conversation,  referring  to  his  having  crossed  the 
Atlantic  six  times.  I  put  a  great  many  questions  to  him  about 
America,  and  he  gave  me  much  valuable  information  upon  the 
subject.  He  owned  five  thousand  acres  of  land  near  Nashville, 
" supposed  I  had  heard  of  Nashville,"  etc.  He  seemed  very 
full  of  admiration  for  the  Americans,  liked  them  and  their  ways, 
their  railroads,  etc.  Was  in  New  York  when  the  news  of  Lin 
coln's  assassination  came;  said  he  never  saw  people  "so  cut 
up";  offered  me  whiskey  and  drank  my  health  "with  his  regards." 
He  advised  me  to  go  to  America  for  a  few  months;  was  sure  it 
would  interest  me.  As  to  this  Auburn  map,  I  find  the  owner 
went  there  in  1857  and  stayed  a  few  months,  got  discouraged  and 
came  home.  Last  night  I  talked  with  some  commercial  travellers 
and  was  amazed  at  their  glib  ignorance.  One  man  said  that 
America  was  originally  settled  by  spirit  rappers,  somewhere 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  29 

about  1760  or  so.     He  had  read  it  in  a  history  of  America  by 
somebody;  he  forgot  who. 

Cardiff,  Wales,  January  20,  1866.  I  have  been  out  on  the 
streets  this  evening.  They  are  very  foul.  Especially  in  Bute 
street  and  lanes  leading  to  it,  there  are  hell  holes  blazing  and 
fuming.  I  was  never  more  disgusted.  I  have  not  seen  whoring 
so  coarsely  displayed  before.  The  sailors  are  the  chief  patrons. 
I  went  into  many  of  the  dens;  the  men  were  swinish  and  the 
women  beastly.  There  are  no  mitigations  of  the  business.  It 
was  sickening.  I  observed  in  my  walk  to-day  through  the 
country  that  nearly  all  the  placards  were  of  quack  doctors  of 
secret  diseases;  ominous  of  Welsh  customs.  In  the  very  midst 
of  these  filthy  caverns  was  a  Gospel  hall.  Tired,  dirty,  and 
disgusted,  I  went  to  the  hotel  and  to  bed  at  ten. 

Caerphilly,  Sunday,  January  21,  1866.  As  it  rained  on  my 
arrival,  partly  for  shelter  and  partly  for  curiosity  I  hunted  out 
the  Welsh  Baptist  meeting  house  and  attended  service.  I  could 
not  understand  one  word.  Saw  now  and  then  a  Bible  name  and 
knew  "Christmas,  E-vans."  I  stood  in  the  little  space  by  the 
door  and  several  who  peeped  pointed  me  to  a  seat.  The  minister 
was  going  it  strong.  I  saw  by  his  attitude  that  he  was  praying. 
He  was  a  Celtic  looking  young  chap  with  a  rather  modest  face, 
thick  and  unctuous  with  a  rotund  voice,  somewhat  hoarse. 
As  he  approached  the  end  of  his  prayer  he  reached  white  heat; 
his  voice  was  suffused  with  enthusiasm;  a  distinct  rhythm  per 
vaded  his  sentences,  which  were  delivered  with  a  wild,  strange, 
and  rapturous  chant.  It  was  fine;  quite  Druidic  or  Celtic.  At 
the  end  of  the  service  they  brought  in  a  loaf  of  bread  and  wine, 
and  I  walked  out  with  the  goats  and  came  home.  I  am  now 
off  for  the  Cardiff  ruins. 

Sunday  evening.  I  saw  the  ruins.  They  are  majestic,  vast, 
imposing,  solemn,  the  most  impressive  I  have  yet  seen.  I 


30  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

climbed  the  old  towers  and  gazed  long  from  the  old  peep-holes. 
One  can't  help  trying  to  clothe  these  old  ruins  with  the  splendid 
life  of  feudal  times.  I  lay  down  under  the  famous  leaning  tower 
but  could  not  frighten  myself. 

Cardiff,  January  22,  1866.  Have  just  returned  from  a  call 
upon  the  American  consul,  Mr.  Birch.  I  was  entertained  by 
an  account  of  the  applications  made  to  him  for  passage  to 
America.  A  crowd  of  men  and  women  stood  in  front  of  the  house 
and  every  moment  some  one  would  knock  at  the  door  to  know  if  he 
might  put  his  name  down  to  go  to  America.  It  seems  that  about 
a  week  ago  Mr.  Birch  sent  out  a  few  (one  hundred)  pamphlets 
as  a  feeler,  containing  the  later  laws  of  the  United  States  concern 
ing  encouragement  to  emigration.  He  says  they  would  go  by 
the  thousand,  both  Irish  and  Welsh.  It  was  touching  to  see  the 
poor  people  assembled  in  the  streets,  standing  in  the  pouring 
rain  and  gazing  upward  at  the  window,  as  if  destiny  dwelt  in 
the  American  consul's  office.  They  even  appeared  to  think 
they  could  read  their  fate  in  my  face.  We  had  a  very  pleasant 
talk  about  the  antiquities  of  the  district,  English  politics,  etc. 
Mr.  Birch  thought  England  was  now  held  back  as  a  power  in 
the  world  by  the  fact  that  it  was  nominally  one  thing  and  really 
another,  pretending  to  be  a  monarchy  and  really  a  republic;  that 
the  power  of  England  was  wasted  in  the  conflict  between  the 
elements  of  aristocracy  and  democracy.  France  as  a  pure 
monarchy,  America  as  a  pure  republic,  were  instances  of  the 
power  of  a  nation  where  being  and  seeming  were  in  harmony. 

LETTER  FROM   MOSES   COIT   TYLER   TO   HIS   WIFE 

London,  Sept.  15, 1866 

MY  OWN  DARLING  JENNIE  I 

Your  letter  dated  August  14  found  me  at  Ramsgate,  where 
I  spent  a  very  profitable  week.  The  sea  air  braced  me  up  and 
gave  me  inspiration  for  my  lecture  on  England,  at  which  I  worked 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  31 

hard  and  happily  every  morning.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I 
have  been  safely  delivered  of  the  lecture  and  am  as  well  as  could 
be  expected.  The  brat  only  lacks  now  a  little  polishing  up  and 
a  tail,  and  he'll  be  ready.  I  was  very  lonely,  or  at  least  should 
have  been  had  I  not  been  so  busy.  Never  before  since  I  have 
been  abroad  has  there  been  such  a  mob  of  Americans  as  now. 
I  have  to-day  called  on  Mr.  Ivison  and  family.  He  is  the  cele 
brated  publisher  of  the  firm  of  Ivison  and  Phinney  and  has 
brought  letters  from  Boston  people.  I  have  engaged  to  spend 
part  of  Monday  with  them,  and  pilot  them  about  London.  They 
are  very  rich  and  go  in  style.  I  have  also  been  piloting  Miss 
Alcott,  of  Concord,  author  of  Moods  and  Hospital  sketches.  She 
is  a  jolly  Yankee  girl,  full  of  the  old  Nick  and  thoroughly  posted 
on  English  literature,  so  that  it  is  great  fun  to  take  her  about,  as 
she  appreciates  all  the  literary  associations.  We  have  had  some 
most  ludicrous  adventures  in  the  old  haunts  of  London.  She 
had  resolved  to  see  the  street  in  which  "Sairy  Gamp"  lived  if 
she  saw  nothing  else.  So  I  took  her  to  Kingsgate  street,  and 
after  we  had  gawked  through  it  and  had  fixed  upon  a  house  we 
thought  most  likely  to  have  been  Sairy's,  the  idea  entered  my 
head  that  it  would  be  rare  fun  to  inquire  at  the  shop  for  Mrs. 
Gamp,  as  if  she  were  a  real  person.  Well,  the  conversation  I 
had  at  the  shop  door  with  the  people  who  thought  it  all  earnest 
was  killing.  Miss  Alcott  had  continually  to  turn  her  back  to 
hide  her  laughing  and  finally  ran  away  to  the  end  of  the  street 
to  let  off.  You  know  she  is  of  the  Emerson  and  Hawthorne  set. 
Her  enthusiasm  and  appreciation  of  drollery  reminded  me  con 
tinually  of  Susy,  who  would  have  relished  our  adventure  beyond 
measure,  as  would  you.  MOSES. 

[The  following  letter  from  Louisa  M.  Alcott,  although  chrono 
logically  out  of  place,  is  inserted  here  on  account  of  its  connection 
with  the  preceding  event:]' 

•     Boston,  January  5,  1868 
MY  DEAR  MR.  TYLER  : 

On  my  return  yesterday  from  a  holiday  lark  I  was  agree 
ably  surprised  to  find  your  letter.  It  is  very  good  of  you  not  to 
mind  being  called  a  chump,  and  put  in  print  "j'intly"  with  an 


32  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

irrepressible  spinster  on  the  rampage.  But  I  did  have  such  a 
good  time  that  day,  thanks  to  my  prince  of  guides,  that  when  I 
was  ordered  to  write  a  sketch  I  couldn't  resist  trying  to  tell 
the  fun  of  that  expedition.  As  you  perceive,  the  last  part  is 
an  addition  for  you,  and  I  didn't  eat  meat  pie  nor  visit  the  monu 
ment.  But  I  did,  with  Mr.  K ,  one  of  the  young  bachelors, 

and  though  that  trip  was  like  the  play  of  Hamlet  minus  the 
prince,  I  thought  it  would  make  a  proper  finale  for  Dickens 
day  and,  availing  myself  of  the  literary  license,  I  up  and  did  it. 

If  Mr.  Johnson  asks  for  any  more,  I'll  give  him  No.  2  of  the 
same  sort,  for  I  think  the  world  would  enjoy  an  account  of  the 
professor  tapping  away  at  Milton's  chimney  for  a  bit  of  the 
original  brick,  and  eating  gingerbread  out  of  a  paper  bag  in 
Smithfield,  not  to  mention  insinuating  himself  and  party  into  the 
Charter  House  and  sundry  other  famous  places  by  the  persuasive 
power  of  "the  cherubic  countenance." 

Tell  Mrs.  Gage  not  to  get  prophetic,  for  L.  M.  A.  is  a  chronic 
spinster  and  knew  that  the  professor  was  already  appropriated, 
so  she  could  enjoy  London  with  a  free  mind  and  find  balm  for 
her  solitary  soul  in  that  memorable  mixture  of  shrines  and  shil 
lings,  history  and  happiness,  mud  and  metaphysics. 

I  still  cherish  the  dream  of  returning  for  another  novel,  in  dear, 
dirty,  delightful  London,  for  I  enjoyed  myself  there  more  than 
anywhere  else  and  felt  at  home.  Before  sailing  I'll  drop  you  a 
line  suggesting  that  you  put  your  university  in  one  pocket,  your 
wife  in  the  other,  and  come  too. 

I  have  had  several  very  pleasant  letters  from  Mrs.  Taylor 
and  the  Conways  and  from  time  to  time  have  enjoyed  your 
articles  in  the  Independent,  especially  the  House  of  Commons 
letter,  for  I  wanted  it  shown  up  and  couldn't  do  it  myself, 
because,  being  stowed  in  the  cage,  my  "mission  was  limited," 
which  remark  reminds  me  that  I've  heard  Dickens  read  again,  and 
though  I  enjoyed  it  very  much,  I  couldn't  set  up  again  this 
idol  who  fell  with  a  crash  last  year  in  London.  Why  will  he 
wear  two  rivers  of  watch  guards  meandering  over  his  vest,  a 
diamond  ring  on  each  hand,  curl  his  gray  hair,  and  come  upon 
the  stage  with  a  youthful  skip?  Oh,  why?  I  am  spending  the 
winter  in  Boston  and  having  a  capital  time.  If  you  ever  come 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  33 

this  way  call  at  "Gamp's  Garret,"  No.  6  Haywood  place,  and 
try  the  "cowcumber."  With  regards  to  your  wife  and  "the 
orphans,"  I  am  yours  truly  in  a  corner, 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT. 

London,  November  14,  1866.  Visited  Highgate  cemetery. 
The  chapel  of  the  grammar  school  is  built  over  Coleridge's 
grave.  The  workmen  saw  me  looking  through  the  little  church. 
I  asked  them  where  Coleridge  was  buried.  They  did  not  know, 
but  said  if  I  would  apply  to  Mr.  Eagles,  a  seedsman,  he  could  tell. 
I  found  his  shop  and  him,  an  elderly,  tall,  and  venerable  man  with 
none  of  the  usual  manner  of  small  English  tradesmen.  He 
promptly  directed  me;  but  when  I  said  I  came  from  a  distant 
country  where  Coleridge  was  greatly  honored,  from  America, 
his  face  brightened.  "This  is  very  extraordinary,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  had  a  great  many  American  gentlemen  here  for  the  same 
errand  in  former  years  before  the  war.  I  shall  be  most  happy 
to  go  with  you  myself.  I  am  going  that  way."  He  soon  got 
ready,  apologizing  for  detaining  me  so  long.  On  the  way  he 
told  me  he  had  lived  there  all  his  life,  that  he  had  often  seen  and 
talked  with  Coleridge,  that  he  was  himself  apprenticed  to  a  gar 
dener,  and  used  to  see  Coleridge  with  his  long  flowing  locks 
pacing  up  and  down  beneath  the  elms  with  a  book  in  hand. 
He  had  many  talks  with  him.  His  tones,  he  said,  he  should  al 
ways  remember,  they  were  so  rich  and  beautiful  and  kind.  Cole 
ridge  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  little  boys  and  girls  of  the 
place,  who  used  to  rush  up  to  him  and  hold  long  and  merry  inter 
views  with  him.  Mr.  Eagles  remembers  that  a  little  man  used 
to  lodge  at  his  master's;  and  he  remembers  a  company  meeting 
there  one  night  which  included  Charles  Lamb,  Coleridge,  and 
others.  He  heard  Coleridge's  voice  much  of  the  time.  They 
got  very  merry  over  their  wine,  and  when  one  gave  the  toast 
"Here's  to  the  lasses, "  some  one  else,  with  an  offering  of  glasses, 
threw  two  large  trays  of  them  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  IV 

1867  — 1869 

[On  December  5,  1866,  Moses  Coit  Tyler  sailed  on  an  Inman 
steamer  that  left  Liverpool  for  America.  He  returned  many 
times  to  England  to  revisit  old  haunts,  but  never  to  make  it  his 
permanent  home.  During  those  years  in  England  he  had  made 
great  efforts  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  but  lecturing  and 
such  writing  as  he  could  get  from  American  newspapers  had 
furnished  but  insufficient  support.] 

LETTER   FROM   MOSES   COIT   TYLER    TO    HIS   WIFE 

Chicago,  January  3, 1867 
MY  DARLING: 

...  It  seems  all  a  dream.  I  have  not  been  in  Rockford.  I 
am  not  in  America.  Your  next  letter  should  be  addressed  to 
337  Strand,  London,  as  usual. 

However,  I  reached  Chicago  in  due  season.  Edward  Forman 
was  waiting  for  me.  He  knew  me  instantly,  as  I  did  him.  I 
had  his  guidance  to  see  Mr.  Brown,  who  said  it  was  too  late  in 
the  season  to  do  anything,  but  he  would  take  pleasure  in  helping 
me  another  year.  I  then  saw  Norman  Perkins  in  his  law  office. 
He  looked  at  me  a  full  minute  before  he  recognized  me  and  then 
nearly  hugged  me  to  death.  I  am  engaged  to  lecture  in  Detroit 
January  23.  I  leave  for  the  East  to-morrow  at  ten  and  shall  ar 
rive  in  Poughkeepsie  about  noon  Saturday.  Shall  stop  there 
over  Sunday  and  leave  for  Worcester  Monday.  Stop  in  Wor 
cester  over  night  and  go  to  New  Bedford  the  next  day.  Shall 
return  to  New  York  and  lecture  in  Poughkeepsie  Friday.  .  .  . 

MOSES. 

34 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  35 

LETTER   FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Poughkeepsie,  July  31,  1867 
MY  DARLING: 

I  have  accepted  the  professorship  in  Michigan  Univer 
sity.  I  cannot  express  to  you  how  happy  I  am  to  have  this 
suspense  removed.  I  have  been  in  very  low  spirits,  or,  rather, 
perturbed  spirits,  during  the  crisis.  To-day  my  writing  inspira 
tion  has  come  back  to  me  with  all  its  old  vim.  The  university 
does  not  open  until  about  October  i.  Shall  remain  here  and  in 
New  York  two  weeks  longer  and  then  go  to  Ypsilanti  to  be  ready 
to  receive  my  precious  treasures.  .  .  . 

YOUR  HUSBAND. 

[During  those  anxious  months  Moses  Coit  Tyler  was  putting 
material  together  for  his  first  book,  called  The  Brawnville  papers, 
being  memorials  of  the  so-called  Brawnville  Athletic  Club. 
These  papers  were  originally  written  for  the  Herald  of  health. 
They  were  on  the  general  subject  of  physical  culture,  but  were 
somewhat  changed  in  book  form.  They  were  published  in 
Boston  by  Field,  Osgood  &  Company  in  1869.] 

LETTER  FROM  CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

2ist  August,  1869,  San  Francisco,  Col. 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR: 

Let  me  thank  you  for  a  book  so  full  of  life  and  health  — 
namely,  The  Brawnville  papers.  It  should  have  been  born  in 
our  climate.  I  found  them  in  Honolulu,  Hawaiian  Islands, 
recently,  where  I  was  sojourning  temporarily  as  a  correspondent 
of  the  Bulletin  of  this  city. 

May  I  ask  a  favor  of  you?  Do  you  think  a  fellow  of  six  and 
twenty  without  a  standing  reputation  to  back  him  could  do  any 
thing  with  a  lecture  on  the  Sandwich  Islands  in  the  East?  I 
know  he  could  burn  it,  if  he  liked,  so  please  don't  suggest  that. 
I  should  like  to  try  my  fortune  away  from  home,  and  your  first 
chapter  is  so  electrical  that  I  cannot  resist  asking  your  opinion 


36  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

upon  this  little  matter.     I  send  you  a  few  of  my  verses.    They 
are  out  of  a  volume  that  died  early.    I  hope  they  won't  bore  you. 

Your  true  and  grateful  friend, 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 

LETTERS  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  Sunday,  August  4,  1867 
MY  DARLING: 

You  will  be  rather  surprised  to  get  a  letter  from  me  at 
this  place.  I  went  up  to  Albany  on  Friday,  but  Mr.  White  did 
not  arrive  that  evening.  He  was  delayed  at  Boston.  But  he 
came  early  the  next  morning  and  found  me  in  bed  at  the  Delavan 
House. 

"Come,  Moses,  go  with  me  down  to  Syracuse.  I  can't  stop 
to  talk  with  you  here."  So  I  dressed,  got  breakfast,  and  was 
off.  We  arrived  here  about  one,  and  Mr.  White's  carriage  was 
waiting  for  us.  He  inherits  wealth  and  lives  in  noble  style. 
His  family  are  decidedly  of  the  aristocracy  of  this  state,  what 
ever  that  may  be  worth.  His  home  is  full  of  noble  pictures  and 
engravings;  but  his  library  is  the  most  wonderful  collection  of 
history  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  private  possession.  It  con 
sists  of  some  six  thousand  volumes.  Many  of  his  books  are  from 
the  private  libraries  of,  and  with  marginal  notes  by,  Lord  Macau- 
lay,  Leigh  Hunt,  Southey,  Buckle,  Charles  Lamb. 

He  is  a  glorious  fellow  and  treats  me  as  he  has  always  done, 
with  great  kindness.  I  consider  him  the  most  promising  young 
man  I  know.  We  have  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  professor 
ship  matters.  He  wants  me  to  hold  myself  ready  for  Cornell. 

I  had  intended  to  return  to  New  York  to-morrow,  but  he  says 
I  must  wait  over  till  Tuesday  and  he  will  go  with  me.  So  I 
shall  stay  over.  .  .  .  THY  HUSBAND. 


New  York,  August  p,  1867 
MY  DARLING: 

Your  good  long  letter  of  the  fourth  came  to-day.    It 
was  very  refreshing  to  me. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  37 

I  am  so  glad  that  you  like  the  plan  of  going  to  Ann  Arbor. 
I  should  be  very  happy  if  we  could  manage  to  go  to  housekeeping 
there.  Perhaps  we  can.  We  will  look  for  a  furnished  house 
and  see  what  can  be  done.  The  salary  is  not  large,  only  fifteen 
hundred,  but  perhaps  that  is  as  much  as  two  thousand  or  more 
at  the  East.  But  certainly  we  can  live  on  that;  and  all  that  I 
can  earn  by  lecturing  and  writing  must  go  for  so  much  extra, 
to  pay  debts,  and  then  to  get  a  home. 

I  had  a  charming  time  yesterday.  Spent  the  afternoon  and 
evening  with  Mr.  Tilton  and  Richard  Grant  White,  the  famous 
Shakespearean  critic. 

I  shall  expect  to  meet  you  in  Ypsilanti  two  weeks  from  this 
morning.  Good!  THY  HUSBAND. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  BROTHER,   MAJOR  TYLER 

November  qth,  1867,  Ann  Arbor 
DEAR  JOHN: 

I  have  been  intending  for  many  weeks  to  write  to  you, 
but  the  pressure  of  my  new  duties  here  has  absorbed  all  my  time 
and  strength.  I  have  never  before  been  so  perfectly  pleased  with 
life  as  at  present.  My  professorship  here  is  that  of  rhetoric 
and  English  literature,  of  which  the  salary  now  is  only  fifteen 
hundred.  We  expect  the  legislature  to  make  a  grant  this  winter 
which  will  raise  the  salaries  all  around  to  at  least  two  thousand 
dollars.  I  have  perfect  freedom  to  go  away  and  lecture,  and 
expect  to  add  by  that  means  at  least  a  thousand  to  my  income. 
We  have  a  nice  little  box  of  a  cottage  and  are  as  snug  as  mice. 

Affectionately,  your  brother,  MOSE. 

August  2,  1868.  To-day  I  become  thirty-three  years  old. 
Seven  years  ago  I  clearly  recognized  the  inward  call  to  a  life  of 
study,  and  all  my  flounderings  since  then,  going  out  of  the  minis 
try,  staying  with  Doctor  Lewis,  emigrating  to  England,  coming 
home  again,  have  been  but  awkward  strugglings  to  get  a  resting 

place  for  my  ideal  scheme  to  stand  upon.   Now  at  last,  in  the  free- 

V 


38  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

dom  from  anxiety,  from  restraint  of  every  kind,  which  I  find  here, 
in  the  healthful  solitude  and  domestic  peace  of  this  tree  embow 
ered  cottage,  do  I  find  what  I  so  long  sought.  Surely  no  time 
is  absolutely  wasted  in  this  world;  else,  for  the  purposes  which 
now  control  me,  I  should  look  upon  the  first  thirty-two  years 
of  my  life  as  nearly  so.  Even  from  this  long  experience  of  effort 
misdirected  and  of  energy  revolving  fruitlessly  upon  itself  I 
shall  extract  good;  for  the  knowledge  of  what  is  false  is  the  pro 
logue  to  the  knowledge  of  what  is  true.  Besides,  the  discipline 
of  real  life  is  directly  educational. 

This  is  the  most  intelligently  happy  birthday  I  have  yet  had. 
Long  sailing  this  way  and  that  upon  the  sea  of  being,  without 
knowing  the  course  I  was  to  take,  I  have  finally  opened  the  sealed 
orders,  and  can  steer  toward  the  harbor  for  which  I  am  bound 
with  clear  ideas  of  my  longitudes. 

The  question  I  have  daily  to  settle  is  to  what  immediate  work 
shall  I  now  put  my  ample  health,  my  enthusiastic  energy,  my 
ardor  of  intellectual  curiosity  and  my  leisure.  Shall  it  be  mainly 
to  production,  or  for  a  while  yet  mainly  to  acquisition?  I  am 
impelled  to  decide  for  the  latter. 

It  is  when  I  think  of  the  great  works  of  literary  art  I  have 
never  read  that  I  feel  disposed  to  curse  the  folly  which  diverted 
me  from  this  work  into  time-wasting  externalities.  In  my 
boyhood  I  was  not  a  reader.  I  had  neither  time  nor  books  nor 
guidance.  In  college  there  was  but  little  time  and  that  little 
I  misemployed. 

My  one  year  at  Andover  was  indeed  well  filled  with  real  study 
and  has  left  a  taste  of  sweetness  which  delights  me  still.  Then 
came  the  feverish  dissipations  of  my  brief  clerical  career,  from 
the  autumn  of  1859  to  the  autumn  of  1862.  Then  I  saw  what 
I  wanted  to  have,  leisure  for  literary  exertion,  but  I  made  a  sad 
mistake  in  my  method  of  procuring  it.  Perhaps  I  could  have 
done  nothing  better  under  the  circumstances  of  broken  health. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  39 

Not  until  last  September  did  I  achieve  the  long-sought 
goal. 

So  that  at  the  commencement  of  my  thirty-second  year  I 
had  done  in  general  reading  only  what  Dr.  Johnson,  Coleridge, 
De  Quincey,  Lessing,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Milton,  Lowell,  had  done 
at  eighteen.  If,  therefore,  from  now  until  my  fortieth  year 
I  give  my  chief  force  to  reception  rather  than  production, 
I  shall  be  only  so  well  furnished  as  they  were  ten  years 
earlier. 

My  general  plan  is  first  to  range  over  everything  which  I  ought 
to  have  contact  with  in  English  literature;  next  to  master  French 
and  German,  and  if  possible  Italian  and  Spanish;  perhaps 
also  to  burnish  up  my  Greek  and  read  Homer,  Demosthenes, 
and  the  tragedians. 

In  this  course  of  labor  the  uppermost  thought  is  reception; 
but  necessity  and  inclination,  the  reaction  of  the  mind  itself 
from  taking  in  the  thoughts  of  others,  will  prompt  to  production. 

I  will  write  regularly  for  the  editorial  page  of  the  Independent, 
and  less  frequently  than  hitherto  for  its  first  page.  I  will  also 
try  to  do  something  for  Putnam,  for  the  Atlantic,  and  the  North 
American.  I  will,  however,  do  most  in  this  book.  I  will  think 
with  pen  and  hand  to  keep  the  mind  from  staggering  on  all  sub 
jects  that  kindle  within  me,  jotting  down  plans  for  productive 
work  to  be  done  hereafter. 

As  to  poetical  composition,  I  have  the  idea  that  I  might  attain 
to  something  like  the  excellence  of  "the  well-languaged"  but 
"the  prosaic"  Daniel.  I  will  write  poetry  chiefly  as  finger 
practice  for  writing  prose. 

As  a  prose  writer  I  believe  that  I  could  have  some  success 
as  an  essayist,  a  biographer,  and  a  historian,  but  since  creation 
is  vastly  nobler  than  compilation,  I  will  faithfully  solicit  my  mind 
to  something  under  the  firmer  shield:  perhaps  to  the  composition 
of  short  stories  with  a  view  to  artistic  novels.  I  will  also  try  my 


40  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

hand  at  dramatic  composition.  If,  however,  after  sufficient 
experiment,  I  discover  that  I  have  not  a  creative  intellect,  I 
will  throw  myself  forcefully  into  the  sphere  of  compilation, 
history,  and  biography. 

I  propose  to  employ  this  diary  as  a  record  of  thoughts  as  they 
occur.  It  will  be  to  me  for  the  purpose  of  ultimate  literary  pro 
duction  what  the  portfolio  of  sketches  is  to  the  artist.  Upon 
these  pages  I  mean  to  throw  such  germs  and  fragments  as  reflect 
in  some  swift  fashion  the  salient  features  of  the  intellectual 
realm  through  which  I  travel  day  by  day.  As  I  read,  converse, 
walk,  meditate,  nay,  often  as  in  moments  of  rest  I  float,  a  passive 
thing  on  the  stream  of  being,  I  have  glimpses  and  sometimes 
full  views  of  ideal  landscapes,  which,  if  caught  by  the  pen  before 
they  are  forgotten,  might  be  used  in  the  construction  of  some 
picture  worthy  to  live. 

As  water  filtering  through  miles  of  rock  and  sand,  heaved 
surfaceward  by  the  beating  heart  of  the  mountains,  and  at  last 
gushing  through  the  lips  of  the  fountain,  is  sweeter,  purer,  more 
effervescent  than  water  pumped  from  a  cistern  by  conscious  and 
wilful  effort,  so  are  those  thoughts  which  come  out  infinitely 
richer  than  those  which  are  drawn  out  from  the  chambers  of  the 
mind.  Yet,  such  idiots  are  we  in  matters  of  intellectual  econ 
omy,  these  latter,  the  unsparkling  and  vapid  pumpings  of  the 
brain,  are  commonly  preserved  in  our  literary  goblets,  while 
the  bubbling  and  life-bright  issues  of  the  soul  are  permitted  to 
flow  away  and  do  no  man  good.  We  foolishly  think  that  what 
by  direct  effort  costs  nothing  can  be  worth  nothing.  These 
streams  of  thought  come  uninvited,  and  are  allowed  to  go  with 
out  being  asked  to  stay. 

Jottings  of  thoughts  seen  in  disconnection,  thoughts  which 
group  themselves  into  partial  arrangement  for  story,  poem, 
essay,  book;  the  flitting  image  of  a  character  in  human  nature; 
methods  of  study;  defects  in  method;  lines  of  investigation  to 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  41 

be  thereafter  followed  up;  hints  which  would  never  ripen  unless 
kept  in  the  sun  of  memory;  plans  of  life;  analyses  of  past  mistakes 
in  life;  resolutions  which  will  fortify  if  merely  remembered,  but 
stupefy  if  turned  into  vows;  whatever,  in  short,  in  the  evolu 
tion  of  my  existence,  may  add  to  my  treasures  or  to  my  power 
as  a  literary  artist  —  will  find  this  diary  their  natural  de 
pository. 

When  during  many  very  immature  years,  say  from  twelve 
to  twenty-five,  I  kept  a  diary  designed  as  a  record  of  my  out 
ward  life,  and  somewhat  of  my  religious  emotions,  I  wrote  imi- 
tatively,  worse  yet,  hypocritically,  myself  being  the  principal 
victim  of  the  hypocrisy.  I  pretended  to  write  for  my  own  eye 
only,  yet  evermore  I  imagined,  conceited  little  coxcomb  that 
I  was,  that  another  eye,  the  multitudinous  eye  of  some  future 
public,  was  looking  over  my  shoulder  and  tracing  its  way  along 
the  line.  Inevitably  there  was  a  series  of  spiritual  posture- 
takings  for  effect.  I  practised  a  double  fraud,  first  upon  my  own 
soul,  and,  second,  in  intention  upon  that  future  public  which 
was  to  read  these  things  as  if  written  by  me  without  thinking  of 
that  imaginary  reader.  Those  books  were  all  sent  to  their 
proper  place,  the  stove,  and  I  am  thankful  that  I  can  never  write 
anything  more  of  that  kind. 

Ann  Arbor,  August  j,  1869.  "Sweep  utterly  all  frothiness 
and  falsehood  from  your  heart;  struggle  unweariedly  to  acquire 
what  is  possible  for  every  God-created  man,  a  free,  open,  humble 
soul;  speak  not  at  all  in  anywise  till  you  have  somewhat  to  speak; 
care  not  for  the  reward  of  your  speaking  but,  simply,  and  with 
undivided  mind,  for  the  truth  of  your  speaking." — Carlyle. 

The  truth  of  every  syllable  in  this  sentence  has  percolated  my 
consciousness  the  past  four  months,  especially  the  clause  pre 
ceding  the  first  semi-colon;  the  solemnity  of  that  thought  has 
been  so  impressed  upon  my  soul  as  almost  to  sicken  me. 


42  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Indeed,  intellectual  regeneration  is  profoundly  blended  with 
the  moral  one;  cannot  proceed  far  without  it.  The  achievement 
is  gradual,  subtle,  beset  with  terrific  dangers,  on  all  sides 
difficult. 

Ann  Arbor,  October  14, 1869.  I  have  several  times  noticed  that 
whenever  my  mind  has  been  free  to  move  whither  it  would,  not 
deflected  from  its  voluntary  line  of  motion  by  unfavorable  cir 
cumstances,  nor  overpowered  by  the  influence  of  some  strong 
book,  it  has  gravitated  toward  the  study  of  the  law,  and  toward 
a  life  of  practical  endeavor  for  the  good  of  human  society.  Never 
shall  I  accomplish  any  great  thing  without  a  complete  conse 
cration  of  my  total  nature  to  it.  This  problem  of  my  life  work, 
though  my  life  is  probably  half  gone,  is  yet  unsolved.  The 
question  which  for  many  years  I  have  continually  put  to  myself 
is  this:  Am  I  to  be  a  literary  artist,  or  am  I  to  be  a  literary  man 
applying  his  art  to  affairs?  My  own  uncertainty  on  this  subject 
sometimes  amounts  to  anguish.  I  shudder  lest  when  I  emerge 
from  the  river  of  Death,  and  stand  stark  and  dripping  upon  its 
farther  side,  I  should  have  to  think  that  my  life  here  had  been 
thrown  away,  or  not  made  the  most  of.  Then,  too,  I  have  great 
present  pride  in  present  success.  I  desire  to  fasten  upon  that 
path  of  labor  for  which  I  am  best  suited.  It  would  be  mortifying 
to  spend  myself  in  a  career  in  which  my  ability,  whatever  it  be, 
cannot  excel. 

This  is  the  melancholy  wave  which  ever  and  ever  rolls  up  on 
the  shore,  as  I  place  before  me  the  life  of  a  pure  literary  artist  — 
a  Matthew  Arnold,  a  James  Russell  Lowell,  a  Howells,  a  Heine. 
I  am  not  a  poet;  I  have  not  the  dreaminess,  the  contentment  with 
passive  sentient  life,  the  idealism  of  the  artist.  While  my  powers 
of  expression  with  the  pen  are  perhaps,  yes,  certainly  —  for  I 
will  not  befuddle  my  words  by  the  dishonesty  of  sham,  or  self- 
depreciation  —  superior  to  the  average,  they  are  not,  I  believe 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  43 

they  never  can  be,  equal  to  the  highest,  and  is  it  worth  while  in 
literary  art  to  be  second  rate? 

I  might  be  a  minor  poet,  I  think;  a  minor  novelist,  a  minor 
dramatist.  The  great  masterpieces  of  creative  literature  I 
can  never,  never  approach J 

On  the  other  hand,  when  I  think  of  the  sphere  of  an  American 
scholar  and  writer  giving  himself  up,  with  pure  heart,  to  the  service 
of  society,  to  the  profound  and  conscientious  study  of  the  vast 
questions  which  now  brood  over  our  life  —  social  and  political 
—  cultivating  wisdom  that  his  countrymen  and  the  future  may 
have  the  benefit  of  it;  and  using  his  powers  of  style  both  with 
tongue  and  pen  to  help  American  civilization  to  be  a  success; 
then  I  have  before  me  a  field  of  work  which  I  do  feel  qualified  to 
take  the  highest  rank  in. 

I  am  conscious  of  an  aptitude  for  investigating  subjects  of  real 
life,  and  for  deciding  upon  them.  Above  all  other  considera 
tions,  I  feel  that  into  this  sphere  I  can  carry  the  whole  force  of 
my  moral  nature  —  and  this  I  cannot  imagine  myself  as  carrying 
into  the  sphere  of  art.  I  never  could,  I  never  can,  do  my  best, 
unless  backed  up  and  energized  by  my  moral  activities. 

So  that,  viewed  purely  as  a  question  of  individual  success,  the 
result  appears  to  me  to  be  this:  As  an  artist  I  should  be  no 
higher  than  second  rate,  and  might  not  be  so  high;  as  a  literary 
and  philosophical  servant  of  American  society,!  might  be  first  rate. 

I  should  be  untrue  to  my  own  soul,  also,  if  I  did  not  draw 
into  this  view  some  consideration  of  duty  to  others.  This  is 
with  me  no  cant.  My  deepest  nature  vibrates  to  an  appeal 
based  on  the  welfare  of  mankind,  especially  of  America.  The 
difficulties  of  our  civilization  thicken  upon  us.  Infinite  conse 
quences  hang  upon  the  experiment  we  are  engaged  in.  There 
are  very  few  public  men  who  seem  consecrated,  absolutely  honest, 
pure  minded,  unselfish.  In  this  plenitude  of  terrific  perils  to 
American  society,  in  this  dearth  of  men  supremely  dedicated 


44  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  the  religious  work  of  encountering  those  perils,  can  I  sit  serene 
in  my  study,  toying  with  tales,  romances,  epigrams,  sonnets, 
satires,  magazine  articles?  If  a  person  has  the  highest  gift  for 
these  things,  with  the  accompanying  inward  call  to  them,  he 
may  honestly  give  himself  to  them. 

Am  I  conscious  of  anything  more  than  moderate  gifts  for  them? 
Am  I  conscious  of  any  inward  call  to  them?  Before  God,  I 
must  say,  No. 

I  am  not  about  to  write  down  here  any  resolve,  far  less  anything 
so  awful  as  a  vow!  Alas!  I  have  myself  experienced  the  folly 
and  the  futility  of  steering  myself  by  vows.  My  whole  nature 
must  rise  slowly,  intelligently,  to  the  level  of  a  noble  decision; 
I  can  no  more  lift  my  moral  and  mental  being  to  a  higher  level 
by  a  single  act  of  will  than  I  can  lift  my  body  from  the  floor  by 
tugging  at  my  bootstraps. 

I  have  work  enough  to  employ  me  until  next  June.  My  studies 
in  rhetoric,  especially  in  English  literature,  the  lectures  upon 
each,  which  I  must  write,  as  well  as  much  heavy  work  for  the 
papers  (that  I  may  get  out  of  debt),  will  fully  employ  me  until 
the  end  of  this  college  year. 

Should  I,  however,  at  that  time  still  be  moving  altogether 
in  the  direction  which  this  morning's  memorandum  indicates, 
it  may  then  be  wise  for  me  to  give  the  leisure  of  the  succeeding 
two  years  to  the  study  of  the  law.  $jj 

It  does  not  appear  to  me  likely  that  I  should  ever  wish  to 
practise  law,  but  the  knowledge  of  it  is  a  great  treasure  in  itself, 
and  of  inestimable  value  to  a  publicist;  while  the  intellectual 
discipline  gained  in  acquiring  it  would  be,  to  my  mind  especially, 
of  the  very  greatest  benefit. 

After  that  I  should  like  to  spend  from  two  to  four  years  in 
France,  Germany,  and  Italy,  for  the  acquisition  of  their  lan 
guages  and  the  investigation  of  political  economy  and  social 
science,  and  for  general  literary  culture. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  45 

On  my  return  home  I  should  feel  pretty  well  equipped  for 
going  to  work  in  the  service  of  American  society. 

Should  I  name  any  man  whom  I  should  look  to  as  in  the  main 
features  my  model,  it  would  be  Edmund  Burke.  I  would  have 
his  learning,  his  philosophical  habit  of  mental  action,  his  per 
sonal  purity  and  goodness,  his  dignity  of  character,  his  catholic 
and  ardent  literary  tastes,  his  passion  for  style.  I  would  follow 
him  —  even  though  afar  off. 


CHAPTER  V 

1870  — 1871 

[Early  in  the  year  1870  two  invitations  to  enter  journalism 
were  offered:  the  first,  to  become  editor  of  the  College  courant, 
published  at  New  Haven,  did  not  require  much  effort  to  decline, 
but  the  second  invitation,  to  become  "right-hand  man"  to  Mr. 
Bowen,  who  had  recently  bought  the  Brooklyn  union,  my 
father  wrote,  "nearly  bends  my  innermost  obstinacy  to  stay 
and  study  some  years  longer  at  Ann  Arbor."] 

LETTER  FROM  THEODORE  TILTON  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Brooklyn ,  January  i,  1870 
MY  DEAR  MOSES  : 

I  write  you  a  hurried  letter  late  to-night.  Mr.  Bowen  has 
purchased  the  Brooklyn  union  and  means  to  make  it  as  fine  a 
daily  newspaper  as  wealth,  energy,  ability,  and  public  spirit  can 
produce  in  the  third  city  of  the  Republic. 

Of  course,  he  means  to  manage  and  control  it  himself,  but  he 
has  asked  me  to  name  his  right-hand  man  and  I  have  named 
Moses  Coit  Tyler.  My  statement  of  the  case  which  I  now  make 
is  by  Mr.  Bowen's  authority.  You  will  receive,  if  you  choose  to 
accept  the  offer,  a  salary  of  $4,000  for  the  first  year,  $4,500  for 
the  second,  and  $5,000  for  the  third.  His  control  begins  with 
February  i.  He  wants  his  men  on  the  spot  by  that  time.  I 
want  you  to  pull  up  all  stakes  at  Ann  Arbor  and  come  at  once 
to  Brooklyn.  It  will  be  the  opening  of  a  golden  age  to  your 
future  fortunes.  Telegraph  to  Mr.  Bowen  on  receipt  of  this 
note  your  cordial  and  hearty  yes.  Then  take  the  train  and  come 
for  a  day  or  two,  at  his  expense,  to  his  house,  to  arrange  all  the 
details.  I  am  your  best  friend  and  I  tell  you  that  this  is  the 

46 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  47 

opportunity  for  which  you  have  long  been  waiting.  Don't 
neglect  it.  He  gives  you  a  cordial  invitation  to  come  even 
though  you  shall  decline  this  invitation,  and  even  though  you 
can  stay  here  only  twenty-four  hours.  I  am  off  to-morrow  for 
the  West  for  six  weeks.  My  whole  heart  is  set  on  your  coming. 

Yours  affectionately, 

THEODORE  TILTON. 

Ann  Arbor,  January  8,  1870.  I  have  just  sent  a  telegram 
and  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bowen,  the  former  declining  his  invitation, 
and  the  latter  giving  my  reasons.  This  has  been  the  most  se 
ductive  temptation  to  leave  Ann  Arbor  and  my  present  mode  of 
life  that  has  been  made  to  me.  The  immediate  and  the  perma 
nent  attractions  of  the  position  are  very  great.  I  could  have 
made  my  way  into  the  heart  of  metropolitan  journalism,  could 
have  made  money  and  reputation,  could  have  gained  political 
influence  and  position,  and  could  have  had  innumerable  social 
and  personal  advantages  from  residence  in  New  York. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  have  not  completed  those  various  studies 
which  I  desire  to  pursue,  and  if  I  had  gone  to  Brooklyn  I  never 
could  have  completed  them.  Finally,  if  I  were  ready  to  leave 
my  studious  retirement  and  plunge  into  the  affairs  of  the  world, 
do  I  want  to  be  a  journalist?  I  would  rather  be  a  lawyer. 

Here  remaining  in  seclusion  for  five  years  longer  I  can  steadily 
gain  a  quiet  reputation  and,  better  still,  I  can  deepen  and  widen 
my  knowledge,  my  mastery  of  principles,  and  my  habits  of 
thinking;  and  if  it  be  my  destiny  to  be  a  man  of  affairs,  I  shall 
enter  upon  such  a  career  more  coolly,  with  greater  circumspec 
tion  and  certainty  as  to  the  way  I  want  to  go.  Had  I  gone  to 
Brooklyn  it  would  have  been  a  premature  introduction  to  the 
business  of  the  world.  I  have  nearly  completed  a  certain  stage 
of  literary  studies;  the  next  stage  will  be  the  study  of  the  law, 
of  political  economy,  and  American  history.  Upon  that  stage 
of  work  I  expect  to  enter  soon. 


48  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Meantime,  I  feel  greater  respect  for  myself  that  I  have  had 
the  poise  of  soul  and  the  inflexibility  of  purpose  to  meet  this 
tremendous  onset  of  Theodore's;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  ideal 
formed  in  my  soul  to  reject  so  flattering  and  captivating  a  sub 
stitute. 

Ann  Arbor,  January  20.  I  am  about  to  open  the  first  volume 
of  Kent's  Commentaries.  I  thus  begin  under  most  favorable 
auspices  the  realization  of  a  long-cherished  desire,  the  regular 
study  of  the  law. 

Ann  Arbor,  May  23,  1870.  Week  before  last  I  had  a  book 
notice  in  the  Independent,  entitled  Literary  labors  of  Charles 
Sumner.  To-day  the  editor  sends  me  the  following  note: 


Washington,  Senate  Chamber,  i8th  May, 
DEAR  MR.  TILTON: 

The  article  in  the  Independent  on  my  volumes  is  beyond  my 
deserts  —  so  I  say  and  cannot  doubt  —  but  it  has  touched  me 
much,  and  more  than  anything  latterly  made  me  feel  that  I 
have  not  lived  in  vain.  I  have  tried  without  success  to  imagine 
whose  partial  pen  has  done  this.  May  I  ask  you  to  send  me 
three  or  four  copies? 

Ever  yours, 

CHARLES  SUMNER. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  25  May,  1870 
DEAR  JACK: 

Theodore  Tilton  must  have  already  told  the  illustrious  Charles 
who  "has  done  this,"  for  this  day's  mail  brought  me  a  flood  of 
speeches  franked  by  him.  Jennie  is  now  absolutely  confident 
that,  having  won  the  favor  of  the  chairman  of  the  Senate  Com 
mittee  on  Foreign  Affairs,  I  am  about  to  have  a  fat  consulship 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  49 

in  Europe,  and  by  to-morrow  her  demands  will  have  risen  to 
the  position  of  Minister  to  France.     .     .     . 

Affectionately,  MOSE. 


[In  his  journal  for  December  of  this  year  my  father  writes 
from  New  York  and  Washington,  where  he  had  gone  for  a  few 
weeks  to  furnish  a  weekly  letter  to  the  Brooklyn  union  and  the 
Independent:] 

New  York,  December  15,  1870.  This  A.  M.  I  went  to  the 
Independent  office,  where  I  saw,  on  the  stairway,  Joel  Benton, 
and  then  in  the  office,  Oliver  Johnson  and  Doctor  Eggleston,  and 
subsequently  Theodore  Tilton.  The  latter  seemed  restless  and 
troubled,  the  cause  of  which  I  learned  confidentially.  Great 
changes  are  coming.  When  Theodore  went  away  he  kissed  me 
tenderly  on  the  forehead.  Altogether  my  impression  was  rather 
a  melancholy  one  concerning  T.'s  present  state.  The  star  of 
his  life  is  perhaps  turning  upon  him  its  dark  side. 

New  York,  December  16,  iSjo.  Heard  more  about  T.  T. 
which  I  must  not  write  here,  hinting  at  his  domestic  troubles. 
T.  T.  does  not  now  speak  to  H.  W.  Beecher. 

New  York,  December  17,  1870.  This  morning  went  to 
Independent  office  and  saw  the  folks  —  Mary  Clemmer  Ames, 
Mrs.  Abby  Sage  Richardson,  and  Mr.  Briggs,  a  friend  of  Lowell, 
to  whom  Lowell  dedicated  his  poems,  and  who  knew  intimately 
Edgar  Allan  Poe.  Briggs  said  Poe  had  no  human  feeling  —  no 
heart,  although  after  writing  anything  he  could  work  himself 
up  to  shedding  tears  over  it.  He  says  Lowell  and  George 
William  Curtis  are  the  two  most  reliable  literary  men  he  knows. 
They  can  be  absolutely  depended  upon  to  write  what  they  say 
they  will,  and  at  the  time  promised.  With  regard  to  Lowell, 
this  differs  from  reports  that  I  have  had  of  him. 


50  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Washington,  December  21,  1870.  Reached  Washington  and 
saw  the  great  light  blazing  in  the  dome  of  the  Capitol  and  the 
flag  floating  on  its  north  end.  So  I  learned  that  the  Senate  was 
having  a  night  session,  and  this  was  luck.  Getting  into  a  street 
car,  I  saw  therein  the  face  of  Schuyler  Colfax,  whom  I  at  once 
recognized,  though  I  had  never  seen  him  before.  Entered  my 
self  at  Ebbitt  House,  got  washed  and  filled,  and  hurried  away 
to  the  Senate.  Entering  the  gallery,  found  the  Senate  had  not 
yet  assembled,  but  saw  Sumner  sitting  in  leisurely  talk  with 
another  senator.  Went  below,  intending  to  speak  to  him,  but 
could  get  no  page  within  signal  to  take  my  card.  Entered  the 
right  cloak-room,  where  was  one  senator  smoking,  and  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room  a  colored  man  was  walking  about  smoking. 
Thinking  him  an  attendant,  I  felt  at  liberty  to  ask  him  how  I 
was  to  get  my  card  to  Mr.  Sumner,  with  a  tone  perhaps  intimating 
my  hope  that  he  would  perhaps  consent  to  carry  it.  In  very 
kind  tones  he  said,  "It  is  usual  to  send  a  page  with  one's  card." 

M.  C.  T.:  "Has  Mr.  Sumner  been  speaking  to-day?" 

Colored  Gentleman:  "  Oh  yes,  he  has  made  a  long  speech  and 
has  excited  great  opposition.  There  is  to  be  a  great  debate 
to-night." 

M.  C.  T:  "I  find  it  hard  to  get  the  attention  of  these  pages." 

Colored  Gentleman:  "Mr.  Sumner  does  not  usually  leave 
his  seat  after  the  Senate  has  opened,  but  if  you  can  get  your 
card  to  him  now  he  will  doubtless  come." 

By  and  by,  after  the  Senate  opened,  a  friend  pointed  out  the 
various  senators  and  I  saw  in  the  seat  of  Revels  my  colored  friend 
of  the  cloak-room.  I  succeeded  in  getting  my  card  to  Charles 
Sumner,  who  instantly  came  to  me  very  cordially,  told  me 
about  his  speech  of  the  morning,  and  said  he  was  to  be  abused 
this  evening. 

I  heard  a  great  debate,  and  did  not  get  back  to  the  hotel  till 
nearly  one  o'clock.  My  impressions  will  go  into  my  letters 
to  the  Christian  union  and  Independent. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  51 

Saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judd  at  the  debate,  also  Senators  Howe 
and  Nye.  There  was  a  time  when  I  should  have  taken  my  first 
look  of  the  American  Senate  with  awe  and  deep  respect.  I 
was  surprised  at  the  total  absence  of  these  emotions  to-night. 
It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  crowd  of  strong  men,  indeed,  but,  ex 
cepting  Sumner,  not  great  men. 

Washington)  December  22,  i8jo.  Went  to  the  Capitol,  going 
below  and  sending  my  card  in  to  Mr.  Judd.  I  was  invited 
to  take  a  seat  with  him  and  Burchard  from  Illinois.  B.  said 
Garfield  had  no  great  influence,  "he  was  too  scholarly." 
Presently  Mr.  Judd  was  called  out  to  see  a  lady  and  he  wanted 

me  to  go  with  him.  It  was  Mrs. ,  of  Kalamazoo, 

Michigan,  who  is  a  lecturer  against  woman's  suffrage  and  came 
with  petitions  to  that  effect.  After  getting  through  her  busi 
ness  with  Judd,  she  turned  to  me  and  said,  "Of  course  you 
stand  right  as  to  woman  suffrage?"  "Of  course,  I  do,  I  am  in 
favor  of  it." 

"Oh,  no,  do  not  say  so;  you  are  too  good-looking  a  man  to 
be  in  favor  of  such  a  thing;  don't  be  in  favor  of  it,"  and  so  on, 
ad  nauseam. 

Judd  talked  very  freely  about  the  politicians.  He  said 
"  If  Lincoln  had  lived  he  would  have  tried  charity  to  the  rebels 
till  all  his  radical  friends  were  outraged  and  until  he  discovered 
the  real  animus  of  the  rebels;  then  he  would  have  tried  severity 
and  would  have  become  the  most  popular  man  in  the  nation 
and  would  have  been  re-elected  for  a  third  term.  Grant  isn't 
much  of  a  man;  he  doesn't  know  anything;  he  hasn't  any 
brains;  he's  a  good  fighter,  and  that's  all;  he  has  made  blunders 
from  the  beginning  of  his  presidency;  his  gifts,  favoritism,  bad 
appointments,  trying  to  get  on  in  a  semi-military  way,  slighting 
the  politicians,  etc.  He's  a  very  small  man,  indeed;  hasn't 
any  political  ideas  except  what  are  stuffed  into  him.  If  there 


52  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

was  any  other  man  in  our  party  available,  Grant  would  be 
dropped,  but  there's  the  trouble." 

Between  five  and  six  had  a  chat  with  Mrs.  Judd.  She's  a 
bright  and  charming  woman.  She  says  Grant  never  starts  a 
conversation,  but  when  started  often  says  a  neat  thing.  Last 
year  there  was  an  excursion  down  the  Potomac.  He  was  on 
board;  his  cabinet  and  a  quorum  of  both  houses.  Mrs.  Judd 
sat  near  him,  and  said:  "Mr.  President,  it  would  be  a  bad  thing 
to  have  a  great  accident  happen  to  this  party.  Pretty  nearly 
the  whole  government  would  be  destroyed."  "Yes,  Mrs.  Judd, 
but  you  observe  the  Vice-President  has  very  prudently  stayed 
at  home." 

There  is  a  bitter  fight  now  going  on  between  Grant  and  Sumner. 
Here  is  one  of  Grant's  sarcasms  on  Sumner:  A  statement  was 
referred  to  in  conversation,  and  it  was  said  Sumner  ought  to 
know  it.  Some  one  said  he  wouldn't  believe  it.  The  first 
speaker  said,  "Well,  if  he  wouldn't  believe  that,  he  wouldn't 
believe  the  Bible."  Grant  retorted,  "Of  course  he  wouldn't 
believe  the  Bible,  unless  he  wrote  it  himself." 

Washington,  December  26,  1870.  While  walking  in  G  street, 
I  saw  Vice-President  Colfax  coming.  Resolved  to  charge  upon 
him.  Saluted  him.  He  replied  rather  formally.  I  offered 
him  Theodore  Til  ton's  letter,  which  he  glanced  at  and  said: 
"Ah,  this  is  Moses  Coit  Tyler.  Why,  you  did  not  need  to  bring 
a  letter  to  me.  I  know  you  very  well.  I'm  most  glad  to  see 
you.  Now,  come  right  home  and  dine  with  me."  Of  course, 
though  I  had  just  dined,  I  went. 

He  avows  himself  a  decided  Grant  man,  takes  strong  ground 
against  Sumner,  and  declares  Grant  to  be  the  man  to  win  with 
in  1872.  He  argues  stoutly  against  all  objections  to  Grant. 
Says  Grant  and  Schurz  may  be  reconciled,  but  doesn't  see  how 
Grant  and  Sumner  can  be;  says  Grant  is  not  violent  against 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  53 

Sumner  and  doesn't  want  Sumner  removed  from  the  Committee 
on  Foreign  Affairs.  Grant  feels  the  attacks  on  him  acutely, 
but  will  not  reply  to  them. 

On  the  whole  I  can  understand  the  popularity  of  Schuyler  Col- 
fax.  His  manner  would  be  to  the  average  person  very  captivating. 

On  returning  to  the  hotel  I  found  Charles  Sumner's  card 
for  me,  on  which  was  written  this:  "I  hope  you  will  let  me  see 
you  soon.  Can  you  come  Monday  evening?" 

His  house  I  found  to  be  the  ideal  abode  of  the  ideal  American 
senator.  After  the  company  had  gone  we  sat  together  about 
an  hour,  talking  about  literary  matters.  Fearing  that  I  was 
over-staying,  I  rose  to  go.  Mr.  Sumner  invited  me  not  to  hasten, 
and  wanted  to  know  what  I  was  doing.  I  told  him: 

"Moving  about  Washington  and  talking  with  people." 

S.:     "Ah,  then  you  can  instruct  me." 

T. :     "  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Sumner;  you  know  all  that  is  going  on." 

S.:  "No,  really  I  do  not.  I  scarcely  go  out  at  all  and  do  not 
see  people  who  can  tell  me  such  things.  What  are  people  talk 
ing  of?" 

T.:  "Why,  you  must  know.  They  are  talking  of  Senator 
Sumner."  Upon  this  he  began  to  talk  for  half  an  hour  about  the 
trouble  between  himself  and  Grant.  It  was  noble.  I  wish  I 
could  repeat  it  word  for  word.  His  voice  was  low,  his  utterance 
deliberate  and  sweet,  his  language  choice  and  strong,  and  what 
he  said  was  both  forcible  and  high  minded. 

Tuesday,  December  2^th.  To-day  I  called  at  Senator  Schurz's 
house  with  a  letter  of  introduction.  I  was  ushered  into  the  study 
and  was  received  cordially.  He  talked  freely  about  the  political 
troubles.  As  to  his  course  in  the  Senate,  he  said:  "I  have  taken 
my  political  life  in  my  hand.  I  have  resolved  to  act  as  if  I 
were  to  end  my  career  with  this  term  in  the  Senate;  be  inde 
pendent,  true  to  my  real  convictions,  and  not  hesitate  to  say  and 


54  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

do  what  I  think  to  be  right  on  account  of  any  regard  for  a  re 
election.  By  that  fortunate  clause  of  the  Constitution  which 
takes  from  me  aspirations  after  the  presidency  I  am  saved  from 
a  great  temptation;  and  I  am  going  to  have  the  luxury  of  doing 
what  I  think  to  be  right."  This  was  said  with  a  beautiful  sim 
plicity  and  sweetness  of  tone.  He  carried  my  heart.  I  think 
him  quite  sincere. 

Washington,  December  30, 1870.  Spent  two  hours  this  morning 
in  Charles  Sumner's  study.  He  was  dressed  in  morning  gown 
and  slippers,  and  looked  very  senatorial.  I  could  have  wor 
shipped  him.  He  is  majestic.  He  greeted  me  very  cordially.  He 
began  by  speaking  of  the  letters  he  had  received  from  Longfel 
low,  Gerrit  Smith,  and  Garrison,  parts  of  which  he  read  to  me. 
He  also  read  part  of  a  long  letter  from  Gideon  Welles,  giving 
a  terrible  analysis  of  Grant.  Welles  thinks  Grant  a  very  dan 
gerous  man,  ambitious  to  be  made  President  for  life,  reckless 
as  to  our  principles  of  government,  and  even  ignorant  of  them, 
willingly  so.  Is  Welles  mad,  or  only  dyspeptic,  malignant,  and 
sour?  He  denied  to  Grant  any  greatness.  Charles  Sumner 
said  Grant  "is  curiously  and  subtly  selfish,"  and  that  "there 
never  had  been  such  nepotism  since  the  Borgian  popes." 

When  I  tried  to  go  he  called  me  back  to  show  me  some  of 
the  engravings  about  the  rooms,  referring  to  his  special  theme 
of  treaties.  He  also  had  photographs  of  Brougham,  Bright,  and 
Gladstone.  The  talk  turned  on  Brougham.  I  criticised  him 
as  a  mere  rhetorician  and  actor,  a  liar  and  a  dupe  of  flattery. 
Sumner  partly  admitted  it  and  said  that  it  was  a  misfortune  to 
him  that  he  ever  met  B.,  the  meeting  so  lowered  him  in  his 
opinion;  that  B.  was  the  grossest  and  most  profane  man  in  con 
versation  that  he  ever  knew. 

"Mr.  Senator,  that  is  a  good  deal  for  you  to  say  when  you 
reflect  who  is  your  nearest  neighbor  in  the  Senate." 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  55 

Charles  Sumner:  "Why,  do  you  mean  Nye?" 

M.  C.  T.r  "Certainly.  He  is  the  most  obscene  and  profane 
talker  I  ever  met." 

Charles  Sumner:  "Well,  I  have  been  told  something  of  that. 
But  I  never  heard  him  talk  so.  He  never  swears  or  deals  in 
gross  language  in  conversation  with  me." 

That  I  thought  the  greatest  imaginable  testimony  to  the 
greatness  and  purity  of  Charles  Sumner's  personal  presence  in 
the  Senate. 

Washington,  December  31,  1870.  A  note  from  Mr.  Coif  ax 
inviting  me  to  go  to  church  and  lunch  with  him  to-morrow. 

Washington,  January  i,  1871.  By  invitation  I  went  to  the 
Vice-President's  this  morning  at  10.30.  At  just  10.40  his 
carriage  drove  up,  two  horses  and  a  black  liveried  driver.  Mrs. 
Coif  ax  and  I  sat  on  the  back  seat;  the  Vice-President,  insisting, 
against  my  protestations,  on  using  the  small  movable  seat  which 
faced  us.  "The  only  place  where  I  insist  on  having  my  own 
way  is  in  my  own  carriage.  There  I  will  sit  where  I  please." 

Both  before  leaving  the  house  and  in  his  carriage  the  V.-P. 
slided  into  politics  easily. 

"This  carriage  was  a  present  to  me  from  Congressman  Hooper. 
I  am  a  poor  man  and  never  could  have  afforded  such  a  thing. 
Mr.  Hooper  said  that  when  I  should  be  elected  Vice-President 
he  should  give  me  a  carriage.  I  forgot  all  about  it.  One  day, 
after  my  inauguration,  he  came  to  me  in  the  Capitol  and  said: 
'Coif ax,  ride  with  me.'  We  came  together  to  my  house.  He 
came  in  and  chatted  awhile  with  Mrs.  Colfax  and  then  told 
her  to  come  to  the  window,  as  he  had  something  to  show  her. 
' There,  Mrs.  Colfax,  that  is  your  carriage  out  there.  I  want 
you  to  loll  your  husband  to  send  round  to  my  stable  for  it.' 
Well,  that's  the  way  a  poor  man  came  to  own  a  carriage.  And 
now  I'll  tell  you  about  those  horses.  After  I  got  my  carriage 


56  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  needed  something  to  draw  it,  and  one  day  Mr. ,  the  super 
intendent  of  the  Adams  Express  Company,  said  he  was  buying 
horses  every  day  and  could  pick  me  out  a  good  span  cheaper 
than  I  could  get  them.  I  told  him  to  go  ahead.  '  What  is  the 
limit?7  said  he.  'Oh,  $400  or  $500.'  'Very  well.'  In  a  few  days 

these    horses    came    around.     I    handed  Mr.  my  check 

for  the  amount  he  told  me  they  cost.  He  took  the  check,  and 
said  he  would  send  me  the  receipt.  The  next  day  came  an 
envelope  with  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  receipt.  On  opening 
it  I  found  my  check  returned  to  me  with  his  compliments.  And 
that  is  the  way  I  came  to  be  the  proprietor  of  this  equipage." 
On  previous  occasions  Mr.  Colfax  has  talked  in  the  same  frank 
way  about  his  poverty.  He  told  me  he  could  not  live  on  the 
salary  of  the  Vice-President;  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  an 
office  had  not  supported  him.  I  asked  him  about  some  Chinese 
vases  in  his  dining-room.  "I  know  nothing  about  them.  They 
belong  with  the  furniture  to  this  house.  I  take  it  furnished  and 
pay  $13,000  a  year  for  it."  I  think  Colfax  is  anxious  that  the 
people  should  continue  to  think  him  one  of  them.  Then,  allud 
ing  to  an  article  of  mine,  the  Vice-President  said:  "You  say 
that  my  cheerfulness  as  a  public  man  you  don't  understand. 
Now,  I'll  explain  it  to  you.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  secret.  In 
the  first  place,  a  man  must  be  happy  in  his  home.  That  is  what 
I  am.  In  the  presence  of  this  lady  here  I  mustn't  speak  my 
whole  mind  on  that  point;  it  might  embarrass  her.  But  in  my 
home  life,  thanks  to  a  kind  Providence,  I  have  been  most  fortu 
nate.  In  the  next  place,  a  man  must  keep  out  of  quarrels. 
You  see  how  here  in  Washington  public  men  are  jealous  of  each 
other,  talking  hard  things  of  each  other,  and  getting  into  all 
sorts  of  rows  and  wrangles.  Well,  now  I  never  have  anything 
of  that.  I  have  just  one  rule:  If  anybody  wants  to  have  a 
quarrel  with  me,  he  must  do  it  all  himself.  I  won't  help  him. 
I  am  on  good  terms  with  men  of  all  parties.  I  never  let  political 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  57 

differences  disturb  personal  relations.  Furthermore,  I  try  to 
look  on  the  bright  side  of  things;  to  hope  for  the  best;  to  be 
lieve  that  the  right  will  come  out  ahead.  I've  seen  the  country 
in  dark  days,  but  I  wouldn't  despair.  I  know  that  things  are 
in  a  bad  way  now.  They  do  trouble  me.  Yet  I  resolve  not  to 
sink  into  the  dumps  about  it." 

Here  we  approached  the  church  —  the  Metropolitan  Metho 
dist.  There  was  already  a  crowd.  Coif  ax  was  received  on  all 
hands  with  smiles  and  politeness  and  real  affection.  The 
aisles  were  filling,  but  the  usher  kept  a  passage  open  from  the 
door  to  the  President's  pew,  which  was  just  in  front  of  the  Vice- 
President's. 

Just  as  the  second  hymn  was  given  out,  the  President  came 
quietly  in  with  his  youngest  son,  Jesse,  a  boy  of  about  eleven. 
This  was  my  first  sight  of  General  Grant.  He  stood  at  the  pew 
door  waiting  for  the  boy  to  come  up.  Grant's  air  was  as  calm 
and  firm  as  has  been  represented.  As  he  stood,  his  eyes  were 
thrown  in  a  peculiarly  fixed  way  toward  the  people  beyond  the 
farther  end  of  his  pew.  On  sitting  he  bowed  pleasantly  to  the 
Vice-President,  paying  a  passing  glance  to  Mrs.  Colfax  and  my 
self.  His  head  is  like  a  big  bullet;  his  face  had  a  look  of  illimita 
ble  determination  and  quiet  strength;  also  quite  plebeian,  as 
did  his  boy's.  There  was  the  mark  of  eye-glasses  on  his  nose; 
and  his  eyes  looked  as  if  he  had  slept  hard  after  being  up  late. 
Yet  there  was  health  in  his  face,  as  if  he  could  stand  anything 
without  much  wear  and  tear.  He  looked  like  a  natural  stoic, 
military  and  political.  During  the  sermon  he  did  not  appear 
to  pay  much  attention,  any  more  than  to  keep  the  run  of  the 
thing  and  be  sure  that  Doctor  Newman  talked  no  heresy.  His 
eye  moved  quickly  when  it  moved  at  all,  and  then  rested  heavily 
upon  whatever  object  it  settled  on.  During  the  latter  part, 
some  one  fainted  in  the  back  of  the  church  and  there  was  a 
momentary  noise.  Grant  started  quickly  and  turned  quite 


58  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

around,  with  a  startled  look,  as  if  personally  suspicious  of  danger, 
and  yet  with  an  expression  that  could  quell  danger.  After 
the  benediction  the  Vice-President  presented  me  to  him  at  the 
pew  door.  He  shook  hands  and  smiled  pleasantly,  but  by  no 
means  gushed.  Neither  did  I.  The  crowd  was  so  great  that 
we  moved  out  very  slowly.  Colfax  was  saluting  people  on  both 
sides;  Grant  scarcely  any  one.  On  the  church  step  an  elderly 
man  pushed  through  the  crowd  to  Grant  and  offered  his  hand, 
giving  his  name  as  the  "Rev.  So  and  So,"  and  commenced  a 
rather  slow  speech  of  admiration  to  the  President,  who  looked 
stolid  but  bored.  I  helped  Mrs.  Colfax  to  the  carriage.  I  should 
have  said  that  before  the  benediction  Colfax  whispered  to  me, 
after  whispering  with  the  President,  and  said:  "  We'll  let  Mrs. 
Colfax  ride  home;  you  and  I  will  walk  home  with  the  Presi 
dent."  I  liked  this,  yet  whispered  to  Mrs.  Colfax  that  her 
husband  was  going  to  make  me  do  something  in  very  bad 
taste. 

Just  as  the  carriage  door  was  closing,  Grant  stepped  up  and 
said,  "Let  Jesse  get  in." 

So  Grant,  Colfax,  and  Tyler  started  together  toward  Pennsyl 
vania  avenue.  Within  two  or  three  rods  of  the  church,  just 
opposite  a  livery  stable,  Grant  stopped,  pulled  out  a  cigar  case, 
offered  a  cigar  to  Colfax  and  to  me,  took  one  himself,  and  as 
he  did  so,  he  said  with  a  twinkle: 

"IVe  got  so  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  that  I  can't  wait  for  my 
smoke  till  I  get  home  from  church."  Then  to  Colfax: 

"Colfax,  I  furnish  the  cigars,  and  you've  got  to  furnish  the 

light." 

"All  right,"  said  Colfax,  producing  matches  and  stepping 
into  the  stable  out  of  the  wind.  In  a  moment  he  returned  with 
his  cigar  lighted.  Grant  took  it  and  lighted  his,  handing  it 
back  to  Colfax.  I  took  it  and  lighted  mine  and  returned  Col- 
fax's.  Then  on  we  went.  Colfax  showed  great  tact  in  getting 


JMOSES  COIT  TYLER  59 

me  into  the  ring  of  it.  He  was  on  the  President's  left,  I  on  his 
right.  Coif  ax  said,  looking  across  to  me: 

"Professor,  how  many  students  have  you  at  Michigan  Uni 
versity?" 

T.:  "Something  more  than  a  thousand.  We  have  the  largest 
number  of  any  university  in  the  country;  about  twenty  larger, 
I  think,  than  Harvard." 

Pres.:  "No,  I  think  they  have  about  thirteen  hundred  at 
Harvard.  One  of  my  sons  is  there.  I  see  their  register." 

T.:  "Ah,  then  I  was  mistaken  about  our  being  the  largest 
university." 

Pres. :  "  Well,  I  think  they  make  out  that  number  by  counting 
in  the  students  who  are  there  studying  anything:  students 
in  medicine  and  law  and  divinity.  But  those  in  the  four  classes 
—  freshmen  (here  he  tried  to  think  of  the  names  of  the  other 
classes,  but  without  success)  —  well,  those  in  the  regular  col 
lege  —  freshmen  —  and  well,  those  in  the  (hesitatingly)  four 
classes  make  only  about  seven  hundred." 

T.:  "That,  also,  is  a  larger  number  than  we  have  in  our  four 
classes  of  undergraduates.  The  number  I  just  gave  includes 
all  the  professional  students  as  well  as  those  still  in  the  college. 
The  university  is  composed  of  all  these  sorts  of  students." 

Coif  ax:  "Yes,  that  is  what  makes  up  a  university.  Well, 
Professor,  I  think  you  have  no  charge  for  tuition  to  students 
living  in  Michigan." 

T.:  "None  to  them  or  to  others,  either.  There  is  a  small 
matriculation  fee,  and  an  annual  charge  of  $10  to  the  residents 
in  Michigan  and  $20  to  residents  of  other  states.  Further  than 
that  there's  no  charge.  And,  Mr.  President,  I  should  like  to 
say  that  when  your  youngest  gets  old  enough  to  go  to  college, 
would  it  not  be  fair  for  you  to  consider  the  claims  of  the  great 
university  of  the  West,  which  many  people  think  to  be  in  fact 
the  most  genuine  American  university  in  the  country?" 


60  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Pres.:  "Well,  I  have  one  son  at  West  Point,  and  another  at 
Harvard.  But  Jesse,  my  youngest,  thinks  he  would  like  to  go  to 
West  Point  or  Annapolis,  and  if  I  have  influence  enough,  per 
haps  I  can  get  him  in  at  one  of  those  schools.  As  he  will  be  old 
enough  to  go  to  Annapolis  before  my  term  expires,  perhaps  I 
may  have  influence  enough  to  get  him  in  there."  This  was 
said  in  rather  a  grimly  playful  way. 

T.:  "Well,  Mr.  President,  if  you  find  that  your  influence 
is  not  great  enough  to  get  him  into  West  Point  or  Annapolis, 
I  hope  you  will  try  at  Ann  Arbor.  I  think  you  can  get  him  in 
there.7' 

Up  to  this  point  I  listened  intently  to  the  President's  tones 
of  voice,  to  his  pronunciation,  choice  of  language,  etc.  There 
was  a  certain  western  flatness  in  his  pronunciation,  and  his 
tones  were  slightly  provincial.  I  have  given  almost  verbatim 
his  words,  correcting  an  occasional  slight  grammatical  slip. 
His  whole  manner  was  quite  unassuming  and  modest.  Yet  he 
had  a  way  of  bringing  out  what  he  had  to  say  in  a  pat,  terse, 
decided  way.  His  talk  would  not  have  suggested  greatness, 
neither  did  it  belie  it. 

Colfax  now  changed  the  subject. 

V.-P.:  "Oh,  General,  did  you  see  that  account  of  the  inter 
view  with  Clark  Miller?" 

Pres.:     "Yes,  I  saw  it." 

V.-P. :  "  Well,  how  was  it  about  the  surrender  of  Lee?  Is  the 
common  account  of  it,  the  giving  up  of  the  sword,  etc.,  correct?" 

Pres.:  "Lee's  surrender  to  me  was  made  in  a  house.  The 
only  foundation  for  the  apple-tree  story  is  this:  The  day  be 
fore  the  surrender  General  Babcock  carried  to  Lee  my  note 
suggesting  the  putting  an  end  to  needless  bloodshed,  as  further 
resistance,  he  must  see,  was  vain.  Babcock  found  Lee  sitting 
under  an  old  apple  tree,  and  General  Babcock  said  he  looked 
for  all  the  world  just  as^if  he  ought  to  be  strung  (up  to  one  of 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  61 

its  branches.  Lee's  answer  to  me  was  that  he  would  be  happy 
to  meet  me  to  arrange  terms  of  peace  between  the  two  govern 
ments.  Of  course,  I  could  pay  no  attention  to  such  a  message. 
But  by  the  next  day  things  had  so  changed  that  Lee  saw  things 
in  the  same  light  that  I  did.  It  was  then  that  I  met  him  and 
arranged  terms  of  surrender.  It  was  all  done  inside  of  a  house." 

V.-P. :     "  Well,  General,  how  did  Lee  behave?  " 

Pres. :     "  He  behaved  well,  but  I  felt  very  much  embarrassed." 

M.  C.  T.:  "Why,  Mr.  President,  should  you  have  felt  em 
barrassed?  I  can  imagine  you  must  have  had  great  emotion, 
but  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  have  felt  embarrassment." 

Pres.:  "There  wasn't  any  reason  for  it,  but  I  did  feel  em 
barrassed.  Lee  behaved  very  well.  He  was  dignified,  quiet, 
and  gentlemanly.  He  seemed  very  much  downcast.  If  he 
hadn't  behaved  so  well  I  should  not  have  felt  embarrassed. 
Now,  when  Pemberton  surrendered  to  me  at  Vicksburg  I  didn't 
feel  embarrassed  a  bit." 

V.-P.:     "Why  not,  General?" 

Pres.:  "Oh,  he  took  on  so.  He  acted  as  if  I  might  have 
surrendered  to  him." 

M.  C.  T.:  "I  should  like  to  ask,  Mr.  President,  if  you  did 
not  feel  some  relief  at  the  death  of  Lee?  Did  you  not  regard 
him  as  a  dangerous  man  in  the  country?" 

Pres.:  "Only  negatively  so  —  only  because  he  was  idolized 
by  the  whole  South.  Then  before  his  death  I  had  heard  of 
his  saying  some  very  bitter  things,  especially  about  getting  back 
the  Arlington  estate." 

V.-P.:  "Were  you  approached  by  any  of  the  family  about 
the  recovery  of  the  Arlington  place?" 

Pres.:  "No,  not  directly.  But  one  day  I  received  word  that 
Mrs.  Lee's  lawyer  was  waiting  to  see  me  on  the  subject;  and  I 
sent  him  word  that  I  couldn't  see  him  or  anybody  else  on  that 
subject.  I  heard  nothing  more  about  it  until  McCreery  made 


62  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

his  speech  in  the  Senate  and  brought  on  the  debate,  which  you 
heard  (turning  to  me).  Of  all  the  Southern  generals,  I  had 
most  respect  for  Gen.  Joe  Johnston.  I  knew  him  in  the 
army  long  before  the  war.  He  always  comes  to  see  me  when  he 
passes  through  town,  in  order  to  show  that  he  wants  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  —  Northern  people.  He  always  seems  to  me 
like  a  manly,  honest  person."  (These  words  were  themselves 
spoken  in  a  manly,  honest  way,  and  as  I  looked  at  the  man  who 
uttered  them  with  so  sincere  and  modest  a  tone  I  could  not 
help  feeling  that  they  very  well  described  him.  All  the  bad 
stories  I  had  lately  heard  of  Grant  seemed  confuted.) 

Colfax  then  suggested  other  topics  of  conversation.  General 
Grant's  projected  trip  to  California  next  April;  a  visit  to  Alaska; 
and  some  talk  about  coal  mines  and  other  things  on  the  Pacific 
railway. 

As  we  got  to  the  east  gate  of  the  White  House  we  turned 
in  to  escort  the  President  to  his  door.  "We  are  going  with  you 
quite  to  the  door,  Mr.  President,  so  as  to  make  sure  that  you 
don't  get  assassinated." 

As  we  came  up  the  steps: 

Pres.:  "Won't  you  come  in  and  lunch  with  me,  gentle 
men?" 

V.-P.:  "No,  thank  you.  Mr.  Tyler  is  going  home  to  lunch 
with  me." 

Just  as  he  passed  into  his  door,  which  was  swung  open  for 
him,  without  looking  around,  he  said,  "Good  morning,  gentle 
men,"  to  which  we  of  course  replied. 

The  Vice-President's  house  is  but  a  short  distance  off,  and  on 
our  way  I  heartily  thanked  him  for  his  thoughtful  kindness 
in  enabling  me  to  see  the  President  and  hear  him  talk  in  so 
informal  a  way. 

At  luncheon  nothing  remarkable  was  said  except  that  in  reply 
to  a  question  of  mine,  "Speaking  of  your  joke  about  seeing 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  63 

the  President  to  the  door,  Mr.  Colfax,  do  you  think  it  ever 
passes  through  his  head  that  he  is  liable  to  assassination?" 

V.-P.:  "Not  a  bit  of  it.  At  least,  so  I  think.  He  never 
shows  it.  He  has  been  twice  threatened  with  assassination, 
too,  and  by  the  same  man,  a  crazy  man  who  is  now  in  the  asy 
lum.  The  first  time,  the  man  followed  the  President  closely 
and  cursed  him  and  threatened  to  shoot  him,  but  the  President 
walked  on  quietly,  took  no  notice  of  him,  and  finally  turned  a 
corner  and  told  a  policeman  to  prevent  that  man  from  following 
him  any  farther.  Not  many  days  after  he  was  set  upon  again 
by  the  same  man  in  the  Capitol  grounds,  and  seeing  Judge  K. 
he  quietly  told  him  what  the  fellow  was  saying;  and  Judge  K. 
had  him  arrested  as  a  lunatic,  and  he  was  soon  put  into  the 
asylum." 


CHAPTER  VI 

1871  —  1872 

Ann  Arbor,  March  25,  1871.  What  is  most  needed  in  America 
at  present  is  disinterested  political  criticism,  as  courageous 
as  that  of  Wendell  Phillips,  as  temperate  as  that  of  John  Stuart 
Mill,  as  skilfully  fitted  to  be  listened  to  as  that  of  John 
Bright. 

Our  partisan  politicians,  however  acute  and  eloquent,  are 
slaves.  They  carry  on  their  necks  the  yoke.  They  dare  not 
think  for  themselves  and  speak  plainly  what  they  think.  Charles 
Sumner  and  Carl  Schurz  are  the  two  exceptions.  There  is 
something  wholly  vulgar  in  such  a  career.  He  who  would  serve 
American  society  now  must  beware  of  admitting  into  his  soul 
the  lust  of  office.  That  passion  eats  away  every  noble  quality, 
especially  intellectual  courage.  He  must  reflect  that  America 
can  furnish  him  with  a  political  career  without  his  ever  being 
in  office.  Neither  Greeley,  nor  Phillips,  nor  Beecher,  nor 
Gerrit  Smith  has  needed  office  in  order  to  gain  the  ear  of  the 
people,  and  to  shape  the  destinies  of  the  state.  A  man  may 
work  with  party;  he  must  not  work  under  it. 

I  have  lately  fancied  myself  approaching  a  great  undertaking 
which  may  prove  to  be  the  literary  occupation  of  my  life.  My 
mind  is  still  wandering  about  the  plan,  surveying  it  on  all  sides, 
perhaps  coquetting  with  it,  yet  almost  inclined  to  take  it  for 
better,  for  worse.  It  is  to  write  the  history  of  the  United  States, 
beginning  with  the  administration  of  the  first  President. 

To  prepare  the  first  volume  would  require  a  preparation  of  at 

64 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  65 

least  five  years.  I  doubt  whether  I  can  make  any  better  use  of 
myself. 

Unless  I  have  entirely  mistaken  the  symptoms  of  a  thorough 
and  permanent  determination  of  my  whole  nature,  I  have  at 
last  really  found  my  work.  Since  I  reached  this  resolution  to 
make  the  study  and  exposition  of  American  history  my  chief 
literary  occupation  I  have  experienced  the  truth  of  Carlyle's 
words,  " Blessed  is  he  who  has  found  his  work!"  By  all  that 
is  valuable  in  integrity,  I  mean  to  be  faithful  to  this  work. 

The  reading  of  books  is  not  an  end;  only  a  means  to  an  end. 
The  end  which  it  is  designed  to  promote  is  to  deposit  knowledge 
in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  to  strengthen  his  intellectual  powers 
by  exercise,  to  start  him  upon  trains  of  thinking. 

My  mistake  from  earliest  life  has  been  the  habit  of  dealing 
with  books  as  if  getting  through  them  was  the  supreme  thing. 
In  consequence  I  have  read  too  fast,  have  reviewed  my  reading 
too  slightly  and  too  infrequently,  have  taken  too  little  pains 
to  fasten  to  my  soul  the  best  fruits  of  my  studies,  and  have 
discouraged  the  promptings  which  reading  has  given  to  independ 
ent  thought.  I  think  I  should  get  much  more  good  out  of  books 
if,  in  addition  to  a  reform  in  these  particulars,  I  should  read  the 
best  books  twice  over. 

I  must  try  to  impress  upon  myself,  and  act  upon  it,  that  the 
great  value  of  a  book  is  not  what  it  tells  but  what  it  suggests; 
that  the  harvest  of  reading  is  not  determined  by  the  amount 
of  seed  one  scatters  over  the  mental  soil,  but  by  the  amount  which 
catches,  takes  root,  grows,  and  ripens. 

Be  less  ambitious  to  get  over  many  pages.  Speed  in  reading 
is  a  worthless  consideration.  Widen  your  range  of  knowledge, 
stretch  the  boundaries  of  your  thought;  it  matters  not  whether 
in  doing  that  you  get  over  a  chapter  or  only  a  sentence.  Be 
more  hospitable  to  new  ideas  that  flit  about  the  head  while 
reading.  Lay  the  book  down,  throw  the  windows  open,  and  take 


66  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

the  strangers  in.  Try  to  feel  that  time  spent  in  working  my  own 
mind  is  better  spent  than  time  given  to  picking  up  the  spoils 
wrought  by  the  working  of  other  minds.  I  should  like  to  get 
Emerson's  habit  of  deferring  all  books  to  his  own  diary,  and  of 
making  all  studies  secondary  to  the  study  of  his  own  thoughts. 
In  my  own  library, with  my  own  thoughts,  I  have  been  in  a  hurry 
—  goaded  by  a  gadfly  —  not  well  poised,  anxious  to  make  up 
for  lost  time.  I  must  try  to  appease  myself  by  remembering 
that  I  have  before  me  the  unlimited  leisure  of  immortality. 
Surely  with  that  I  can  be  calm.  Also,  be  content  with  doing 
something  well.  If  I  can  avoid  hereafter  all  hack-work,  it  will 
be  for  my  soul's  good.  Nothing  desecrates  my  mental  processes 
like  that.  It  is  intellectual  prostitution. 

To  prepare  myself  fully  for  the  field  of  American  history  that 
it  may  be  my  privilege  to  cultivate,  I  purpose  first  to  go  over 
critically  all  the  writers  upon  the  subject  of  any  note  — 
Bancroft,  Hildreth,  Grahams,  Holmes,  Palfrey,  Robertson,  and  so 
on.  I  have  to-day  begun  Bancroft.  I  read  him  twelve  years  ago 
in  Owego,  too  rapidly,  rather  as  a  job.  I  have  so  many  more 
grappling  hooks  with  which  to  take  hold  of  him  now  —  wider 
acquaintance  with  books  and  history,  and  special  literary  interest 
in  his  theme  —  that  I  shall  now  grasp  him  with  more 
entire  attention  and  appreciation  than  I  did  then.  The 
introduction  to  his  first  volume,  which  I  have  just  read,  is  a 
piece  of  classic  composition.  I  feel  a  little  depressed.  He  has 
apparently  pre-empted  a  vast  portion  of  the  field.  Then,  too, 
he  began  his  work  so  early  in  life,  and  had  so  fine  an  outfit  for 
it  in  knowledge  of  continental  languages,  that  I  am  humbled 
by  comparing  myself  with  him.  But  here  is  a  noble  vocation, 
in  which  the  victorious  virtues  are  self-reliance,  faith,  determina 
tion,  and  unquenchable  persistence. 

I  have  already  set  to  work  upon  the  large  course  of  study 
which  I  must  pursue  as  a  preparation  for  writing  American 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  67 

history.  Believing  that  Buckle  would  help  me  to  just  ideas  as 
to  the  spirit,  scope,  and  method  of  historical  investigations,  I 
have  commenced  reading  him,  and  am  now  nearly  two-thirds 
through  the  first  volume.  I  find  much  in  his  reasoning  to  dissent 
from;  but  still  more,  in  his  robust  mental  movement  and  in  his 
heroic  learning,  to  admire.  Already  he  is  to  me  like  a  bracing 
sea-breeze.  He  makes  a  quotation  from  Descartes  which  ex 
presses  compactly  a  law  that  I  am  struggling  to  obey  for  my  own 
intellectual  regeneration:  "When  I  set  forth  in  the  pursuit  of 
truth,  I  found  that  the  best  way  was  to  reject  everything  I  had 
hitherto  conceived,  and  pluck  out  all  my  old  opinions,  in  order 
that  I  might  lay  the  foundations  afresh.  We  must  not  pass  judg 
ment  upon  any  subject  which  we  do  not  clearly  and  distinctly 
understand;  for  even  if  such  judgment  is  correct,  it  can  be  so  only 
by  accident,  not  having  solid  ground  on  which  to  support  itself. " 

[On  May  10,  1871,  Moses  Coit  Tyler  went  to  New  York, 
where  he  had  been  invited  to  give  an  address  at  a  mass  meeting 
of  the  American  Woman's  Suffrage  Association  in  Steinway  Hall, 
and,  being  in  sympathy  with  the  subject,  he  readily  accepted. 
There  he  met  Lucy  Stone,  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Mrs.  Livermore, 
and  others  interested  in  the  cause.  The  following  is  in  brief 
his  argument  for  woman  suffrage:] 

"Women  have  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  men  still  apply 
to  them  in  our  laws  and  political  usages  the  maxims  that  have 
come  to  us  from  Asia  and  from  Europe  of  the  middle  ages,  and 
while  these  maxims  may  be  perfectly  appropriate  to  the  sort  of 
women  produced  by  the  society  of  Asia  or  of  mediaeval  Europe, 
they  are  not  appropriate  to  the  woman  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
The  American  woman  is  not  a  toy,  a  wax  doll,  nor  a  chattel. 
She  does  not  wish  the  contemptuous  worship  of  mediaeval  chiv 
alry.  She  does  not  wish  the  pretty  compliments  at  the  expense 


68  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

of  her  personality.  She  reads,  she  reasons,  she  has  ideas,  she 
trades,  she  writes,  she  is  a  person,  she  is  a  member  of  the  state, 
to  suffer,  to  serve,  to  pay  taxes,  to  wield  influences,  to  aid  in 
shaping  the  destinies  she  is  to  share.  She  objects  to  pretty 
speeches  to  her  and  about  her,  so  long  as  the  practical  commen 
tary  upon  the  pretty  speeches  turns  them  into  indignities.  And 
what  is  the  political  value  of  personality?  Everything!  The 
only  absolutely  sacred  objects  in  this  world  are  persons.  The 
upshot  of  all  modern  civilization  is  to  show  the  fundamental 
worth  of  personality.  The  upshot  of  modern  political  science 
is  to  demonstrate  that  all  political  rights  rest,  not  in  property, 
not  in  social  rank,  nor  even  in  education,  nor  in  color,  nor  in  sex, 
but  in  personality.  All  the  great  civil  convulsions  in  Christen 
dom  since  the  fifteenth  century,  all  the  great  political  reformers, 
all  the  famous  declarations  of  human  rights,  have  meant  simply 
this  incomparable  superiority  of  persons  over  things  and  the 
effort  to  bring  this  truth  nearer  and  nearer  to  a  practical  recog 
nition  in  laws  and  institutions. 

"The  right  of  suffrage  is  a  right  resting  in  persons,  and  all 
persons  whatsoever  who  are  members  of  the  state  are  entitled 
to  this  right,  whether  they  as  yet  have  it  or  not. 

"This  is  no  dream  of  transcendentalism,  this  is  not  the  formula 
of  fanaticism  or  of  rhapsody;  it  is  the  cool  and  deliberate  conclu 
sion  of  political  science.  If  the  authority  of  great  names  in 
political  science  could  add  any  force  to  a  declaration  so  strong 
in  its  own  simplicity  and  in  its  obvious  truth,  we  might  easily 
bring  them  forward.  The  very  latest  word  to  this  effect  in  po 
litical  science  has  been  spoken  by  an  American  —  a  scholar  and 
philosopher — Elisha  Mulford,  who,  in  his  great  treatise  recently 
published  on  the  Foundations  of  civil  order  and  political  life 
in  the  United  States,  has  shown  by  principles  taught  by  the  great 
masters  of  political  science,  from  Aristotle  to  Hegel  and  Blunt- 
schli  and  Maurice,  that  the  nation  is  constituted  only  in  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  69 

representation  of  persons,  and  not  in  the  representation  of  class 
interests,  or  of  families,  or  of  the  mere  accidents  attaching  to 
human  beings,  or  of  color,  or  of  sex.  'This,'  says  Mulford,  'is 
the  principle  which  has  the  broadest  ground  in  history  and  the 
only  ground  in  reason,  and  the  necessary  ground  in  justice.' 
'The  right  to  vote/  says  this  profound  political  philosopher, 
'is  the  right  of  every  person  who  is  a  member  of  the  nation/ 
And  there  is  absolutely  no  exception  to  this  principle.  The 
repeal  of  the  vote  to  foreign  persons  not  naturalized  constitutes 
no  exception:  for  such  persons  are  not  as  yet  members  of  the 
nation.  The  refusal  of  the  vote  to  children  and  minors  and  idiots 
and  lunatics  constitutes  no  exception;  for  these  persons  and  indi 
viduals,  either  from  immaturity  or  infirmity,  have  not  the  con 
scious  self-determination  of  persons,  and  by  the  law  as  by  philoso 
phy  are  not  regarded,  as  is  the  case  of  woman,  which  does  come 
under  the  rule  of  persons.  But  the  refusal  of  the  vote  to  her  is  a 
palpable  and  a  gross  violation  of  this  fundamental  principle  of 
political  science  that  the  right  to  vote  is  the  right  of  every  per 
son  who  is  a  member  of  the  state.  It  is  as  great  an  outrage  upon 
common  sense  as  it  is  upon  common  gratitude  and  common 
decency  to  assert  that  any  of  the  reasons  which  justify  the  exclu 
sion  of  foreigners  not  naturalized,  of  minors,  idiots,  lunatics,  and 
criminals,  apply  to  her  case  and  justify  her  exclusion.  For  her 
exclusion  from  the  vote  there  is  absolutely  no  valid  reason  to  be 
alleged  on  any  theory  which  does  not  at  the  same  time  destroy 
democratic  institutions  altogether.  The  denial  of  woman  suf 
frage  is  logically  the  denial  of  manhood  suffrage,  too.  No 
political  philosophy  has  ever  recognized,  nor  ever  can  recognize, 
mere  sex  as  the  ground  of  political  rights,  and  so  the  basis  of 
suffrage.  For  the  same  reason,  therefore,  all  citizens  who  are 
feminine  have  the  right  to  vote  because  they  are  members 
of  the  state.  If  you  deny  the  reason  in  the  one  case,  you 
must  deny  it  in  the  other.  The  vote  is  the  right  of  personality 


yo  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

but    personality  is  not  an  affair  of  sex.     Personality  includes 
both  sexes.    Therefore  the  right  to  vote  includes  both  sexes." 

New  York,  May  10,  1871.  Started  this  morning  for  Brook 
lyn.  Walked.  Reached  Theodore  Tilton's,  174  Livingston 
street,  at  one  o'clock.  Was  invited  up  to  his  sky  study.  As  I 
approached  the  door  it  partly  opened  and  a  hand  came  forth 
and  a  voice  saying,  "Ticket,  please;  ticket!"  Then  the  door 
swung  open  and  I  was  cordially  greeted  by  him.  Found  there 
Frank  Moulton.  Theodore  Tilton  looked  rather  grim.  He  is 
working  hard  and  is  certainly  not  a  happy  man  at  home.  I  was 
impressed  with  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit.  He  is  occasionally 
witty  and  sprightly  as  of  old,  but  there  is  no  stir  as  of  the  deep 
fountains  of  tranquil  joy  in  his  soul.  His  talk  is  of  the  sham  of 
church  and  state;  he  has  seen  the  hollowness  of  society  and  the 
worthlessness  of  men,  and  he  seems  to  carry  a  stern,  magnificent 
sort  of  disgust. 

Ann  Arbor,  28  September,  1871.  I  have  been  occasionally, 
and  of  late  frequently,  overtaken  with  an  inability  to  see  the 
words  of  the  page  I  was  reading  or  the  tip  of  the  pen  with  which 
I  was  writing.  Then  came  a  wavering  and  dizziness  before  my 
sight.  The  other  day  I  spoke  to  the  doctor  about  it.  I  feared 
that  it  was  caused  by  smoking,  perhaps  by  coffee,  possibly  by 
indigestion.  It  just  begins  to  steal  upon  me  now  that  it  is  caused 
by  old  age!  So  to-day,  bowing  to  my  fate,  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
six,  I  accept  the  first  venerable  sign  of  senility  and  buy  me  a 
pair  of  spectacles. 

Ann  Arbor,  5  October,  1871.  It  is  very  odd,  but  ever  since  I 
brought  home  that  pair  of  spectacles  my  eyes  have  been  abso 
lutely  well,  and  have  done  efficiently  all  I  have  required  of  them 
for  eight  or  ten  hours  each  day;  and  all  this  by  simply  having 
the  spectacles  locked  up  in  my  desk  ready  to  put  on  in  case 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  71 

my  eyes  did  not  behave  themselves.    Have  I  not  stumbled  upon 
a  new  remedy  in  ocular  therapeutics? 

My  bones  testify  all  the  time  in  favor  of  my  choice  of  American 
history  for  the  literary  work  of  my  life.  The  thought  grows  upon 
me  day  by  day  and  entirely  possesses  me.  But  I  feel  bitterly 
the  need  of  French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian.  I  shall  have 
to  give  at  least  two  and  perhaps  four  or  even  six  years  to  those 
preliminary  studies,  in  language,  mental  philosophy,  mathematics 
and  physical  science,  necessary  to  qualify  me  for  entering  upon 
the  studies  connected  directly  with  that  first  volume.  If  in  ten 
years  I  have  it  published  I  shall  not  be  dissatisfied;  but  it  would 
delight  me  to  have  it  ready  for  the  awful  centenary  year  of 
1876  —  i.  e.,  in  just  five  years. 

[Early  in  the  following  year  a  startling  experience  in  the  shape 
of  a  threat  of  assassination  was  revealed  through  a  letter  from  a 
stranger  who  felt  it  his  duty  to  write  the  following  warning:] 

LETTER  FROM  EDWARD  CAHILL  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Chicago,  III.,  February  8,  1872 
DEAR  SIR: 

A  young  man  who  gives  his  name  as  Cota  or  Cote  has 
been  in  this  city  for  some  weeks  and  was  yesterday  in  our  office. 
While  here  he  used  your  name  in  such  a  manner  as  to  excite 
in  our  minds  suspicion  that  he  intended  doing  you  some  harm. 
His  language  was  very  violent  when  speaking  of  you.  He  also 
asked  our  opinion  of  Mr.  G.  Lothrop,  of  Detroit,  as  a  lawyer, 
saying  he  wished  to  secure  the  services  of  the  ablest  lawyer  he 
could  find,  but  for  what  purpose  he  did  not  say. 

I  only  write  this  to  put  you  on  your  guard,  knowing  how  full 
the  very  atmosphere  seems  to  be  of  that  moral  mania  which  leads 
to  murder  and  other  crimes,  and  having  learned  the  young  man's 
character  badly  spoken  of  here  and  elsewhere,  I  could  not  feel 
satisfied  until  you  knew  as  much,  at  least,  as  I  did  of  how  the 
young  man  feels. 


72  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

He  said  nothing  at  all  about  the  reasons  for  his  feelings  toward 
you.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  occasion  for  alarm,  but  you  had 
best  be  on  your  guard.  He  left  here  yesterday  for  Jonesville, 
and  said  he  should  go  from  thence  to  Ann  Arbor. 

I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  acquaintance  with  you, 
but  I  have  too  high  a  regard  for  the  Professor  Tyler  who  belongs 
to  our  country  to  remain  quiet  even  at  the  risk  of  being  called 
an  alarmist.  Yours,  &c., 

EDWARD  CAHILL. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  12  February, 
DEAR  JACK: 

I  send  you  a  letter  which  may  interest  you.  It  is  very 
unique.  The  writer  is  unknown  to  me.  The  person  referred  to 
is  a  Canadian  named  Cote,  who  came  here  with  his  wife  about 
two  years  ago,  or  less;  lived  on  his  wife's  earnings  as  a  French 
teacher;  and  whose  brutalities  toward  her  stirred  up  such  general 
indignation  that,  on  being  appealed  to,  I  went  with  Judge  Cooley 
and  the  Congregational  minister  and  told  Cote  that  he  must 
leave  the  town  at  once  or  he  would  be  mobbed.  He  decamped  at 
once,  horribly  frightened,  and  has  never  since  returned  except 
for  about  eight  hours.  I  afterward  accidentally  met  him  in 
Detroit  and  the  interview  was  friendly.  He  has  since  written 
me  a  letter  in  the  same  tone.  I  had  no  idea  of  his  enmity  to 
ward  me,  or  that  he  singled  me  as  the  special  object  of  his  rage. 
His  wife  has  lately  got  a  divorce  in  the  circuit  court  here.  I 
have  not  seen  anything  of  him  yet  since  the  letter.  He  is  a 
profuse  boaster  and  an  abject  coward;  but  if  he  has  worked 
himself  up  into  a  fury  and  is  not  afraid  to  fire  off  a  pistol,  of 
course  he  may  aim  it  at  me,  and  I  suppose  I  cannot  help  giving 
him  daily  and  nightly  chances  to  do  so. 

I  was  rather  startled  at  first  reading  the  letter,  as  my  mode 
of  life  is  not  one  which  brings  me  into  hostile  relations  with  my 
fellow-beings,  and  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  revelation. 
Since  then  I  have  reflected  that  Cote*  is  too  great  a  coward  to 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  73 

do  anything,  unless  his  mania  for  assassination,  feeding  on  his 
vanity  for  making  a  newspaper  sensation,  should  indeed  qualify 
him  for  an  act  of  boldness. 

All  I  can  do  is  to  go  about  my  business  and  keep  a  sharp  look 
out  for  sneaks  skulking  around  corners. 

Please  return  this  letter  to  me  at  once  and  let  me  know 
what  you  think  of  it.  Your  affectionate  brother, 

MOSES. 


LETTER    FROM    MOSES  COIT  TYLER   TO    MAJOR   TYLER 

15  February,  1871,  Ann  Arbor 

I  showed  CahilFs  letter  to  Judge  Cooley.  He  replied  that 
if  Cote  ever  attacked  me,  and  I  didn't  kill  him  dead  as  a  door 
nail,  he  never  would  speak  to  me  again.  The  more  I  think  of 
Cote,  the  more  I  consider  him  to  be  a  contemptible,  cowardly 
cuss  of  a  Kanuck,  but  I  shall  do  just  what  you  suggest.  Your 
advice  reveals  your  genius  at  once  for  military  and  civil  affairs. 
I  shall  adopt  it  and  think  it  dirt  cheap  at  that  fee. 

In  a  hurry  still, 

M.  C.  T. 

Ann  Arbor,  April  21,  1872.  I  am  revising  old  university 
lectures  and  writing  new  ones,  as  well  as  preparing  a  new  lyceum 
lecture.  All  this  intended  work  is  now  done  six  weeks  sooner 
than  I  expected.  I  shall  now  reward  myself  for  my  industry 
by  giving  my  mind  the  treat  of  working  upon  American  history. 
This  past  week  I  have  read  the  two  volumes  of  Austin  Gerry's, 
an  admirable  work;  I  set  out  to-day  on  the  Life  and  works  of 
John  Adams,  in  ten  volumes. 

Ann  Arbor,  June  29, 1872.  On  the  evening  before  commence 
ment  day  Regent  George  Willard  sat  with  us.  He  was  a  delegate 
to  the  Philadelphia  convention  and  helped  in  the  nomination  of 
Grant.  He  gave  me  this  bit  of  secret  history,  showing  that 


74  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Colfax  was  slaughtered  by  the  man  at  the  White  House.  Wil- 
lard  said  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Colonel  Witherington, 
the  most  influential  man  on  the  California  delegation.  That 
delegation  was  undecided  between  Colfax  and  Wilson.  More 
over,  the  Nevada  delegation  preferred  Colfax,  but  had  decided 
to  follow  the  lead  of  California,  whichever  the  latter  might  take. 
Witherington,  being  in  Washington  before  the  convention  met, 
determined  to  find  if  possible  what  Grant's  preferences  were, 
and  to  throw  the  delegations  accordingly.  He  went  to  the 
White  House,  saw  Gen.  Horace  Porter,  and  asked  him  point 
edly  which  man  Grant  would  like  best  to  have  on  the  ticket  with 
him.  Porter  would  not  answer.  Finally,  after  much  vain 
solicitation,  Witherington  said:  "Well,  General,  tell  me  this: 
Which  do  you  consider  the  stronger  man  for  the  ticket?"  "Oh, 
Wilson,  by  all  means."  That  reply  was  enough  to  satisfy  Wither 
ington  that  Grant  would  be  pleased  to  have  Wilson  substituted 
for  Colfax.  He  went  away  and  persuaded  his  delegation  to 
cast  its  votes  in  that  manner,  and  the  Nevada  delegates  followed 
suit.  Had  they  gone  for  Colfax  he  would  have  been  elected. 

Ann  Arbor,  4  July,  1872.  It  is  dissolvingly  hot.  I  could 
wish  that  Fourth  of  July  did  not  begin  quite  so  early  in  the 
morning.  Between  day  dawn  and  seven  o'clock,  amid  the 
clangor  of  our  juvenile  and  enterprising  artillery,  I  had  only 
fitful  glimpses  of  patriotism,  and  was  in  considerable  doubt 
about  the  desirableness  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
Upon  the  whole  I  thought  that  the  Tories  had  the  best  of  it: 
and  this  political  heresy  has  fallen  upon  me  several  times  even 
since  breakfast. 

I  have  spent  the  whole  day  at  home,  reading  the  noble  second 
volume  of  John  Adams.  It  has  been  curious  to  live,  at  the 
same  moment,  at  both  ends  of  the  century;  to  palpitate  with 
the  anxious  joy  of  July  4,  1776,  and  then,  by  a  big  bang  near  my 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  75 

study  window  to  be  hustled  through  a  hundred  years  and  partake 
of  the  settled  but  noisy  fruition  of  July  4, 1872. 

Ann  Arbor,  2  August,  1872.  And  so  I  am  thirty-seven  years 
old  to-day !  Twenty  years  ago  I  expected  to  have  done  more  by 
this  time.  In  outward  achievement  I  have  indeed  but  little  to 
show;  but  in  the  management  of  myself,  and  in  the  sweetness 
of  an  assured  vocation,  I  may  say  that  the  real  battle  of  life 
is  won.  Though  I  die  at  the  end  of  this  sentence  or  before,  I 
have  not  made  a  failure  of  this  business  of  living.  And  if  I 
mistake  not,  as  to  outward  results,  those  will  come  by  and  by, 
all  the  better  for  waiting. 

My  history  is  to  be  from  the  peace  of  1783,  not  the  inaugu 
ration  in  1789. 

Ann  Arbor,  21  September,  1872.  Mother  and  my  uncle  James 
Greene  came  out  from  Detroit  this  morning  and  returned  this 
evening.  I  had  never  before  seen  him  and  I  now  think  it  a  great 
loss.  He  is  a  grand  old  fellow  and  we  had  a  royal  time  with 
him. 

In  talking  with  me  he  told  some  stories  about  his  college  days 
at  Amherst,  where  he  was  graduated  in  1837.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  was  senior  while  Uncle  James  was  freshman  and  they 
both  belonged  to  the  same  debating  society,  in  which  Beecher 
was  very  eminent.  Beecher  was  noted  for  his  inattention  to 
study,  especially  of  mathematics.  One  night  a  humorous  essay 
was  read,  containing  various  •  absurd  hypotheses  to  account  for 
a  great  meteoric  shower  which  had  just  taken  place.  The  final 
theory  was  that  the  solar  system  was  agitated  and  destroyed  by 
the  fact  that  that  evening  —  i.  e.,  on  which  the  shower  had  oc 
curred  —  Beecher  had  looked  into  his  mathematics.  He  was  in 
the  chair  as  president.  After  the  roars  of  laughter  had  subsided 
the  essayist  pronounced  this  hypothesis  utterly  absurd,  because 


76  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

it  was  simply  incredible  that  Beecher  had  looked  into  his  mathe 
matics  that  evening!  On  another  occasion  the  students  stayed 
after  morning  prayers  to  consider  a  plan  for  complimenting  Henry 
Clay,  who  was  just  then  on  a  visit  to  Northampton.  One  stu 
dent  moved  that  the  students  wait  upon  him  in  a  body  and 
present  him  with  a  copy  of  the  Constitution  and  the  Bible. 
Another  student  rose  and  expressed  himself  surprised  at  such  a 
proposal,  and  said  he  would  like  to  know  what  reasons  could  be 
advanced  for  such  a  proposal.  This  brought  up  Beecher.  He 
was  ready  for  such  emergencies.  His  mind  worked  impromptu. 
He  made  a  short,  ringing,  pungent  speech,  supporting  the  plan, 
which  fairly  electrified  the  audience  and  carried  the  measure 
by  storm.  Uncle  James  remembered  with  what  energy  he 
closed  with  the  words:  "It  is,  therefore,  eminently  fitting  that 
we  should  present  to  this  illustrious  statesman  these  two  books  — 
the  one  being  the  Constitution  of  our  country  and  the  other 
the  Constitution  of  our  God." 


CHAPTER  VII 

1873  —  1875 

[Early  in  the  year  1873  Moses  Coit  Tyler  went  to  New  York 
as  the  literary  editor  of  the  Christian  union,  with  the  promise 
of  a  salary  of  $3,500  for  the  first  year  and  a  constant 
increase  until  it  should  reach  $5,000.  Henry  Ward  Beecher 
was  editor-in-chief  and  Oliver  Johnson  managing  editor.  The 
contract  was  terminated  before  the  expiration  of  the  three  years, 
because  the  wear  and  tear  of  New  York  life  proved  too  taxing; 
moreover,  it  chafed  him  to  come  under  the  dictation  of  another 
man  and  he  regarded  the  whole  experience  as  "the  most  dis 
tasteful,  exhausting,  and  ungrateful"  work  he  was  ever  in.] 

New  York,  January  ip,  1873.  Last  Friday  I  met  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  at  his  office.  I  had  not  seen  him  since  New  Year's 
day,  1868  —  five  years  ago.  I  found  him  a  gray,  haggard  old 
man.  His  face  shows  time  and  bitterness  of  spirit.  He  greeted 
me  pleasantly  and  asked  kindly  after  my  health,  and,  turning 
facetiously  to  Oliver  Johnson,  said,  "When  I  knew  this  man 
he  was  a  good  orthodox  minister  at  Poughkeepsie."  He  then 
wanted  to  know  if  my  theology  had  soured  on  my  stomach.  I 
told  him  it  had.  He  remarked  that  "some  kinds  will  do  that." 
Upon  my  telling  him  that  my  kind  which  I  took  at  Andover  had, 
he  went  off  into  an  eloquent  talk  about  Galvanism,  which  he  said 
was  grand,  symmetrical,  logical,  but  merciless  as  fate;  it  was  the 
perfect  synthesis  of  fatalism.  After  a  pause  he  said,  "  Oliver  tells 
me  he  has  been  setting  his  trap  for  you."^  He  then  passed  into  a 
discussion  of  what  he  wanted  the  paper  to  be,  saying,  "My  heart 

77 


78  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

is  with  the  radicals,  but  my  emotions  are  with  the  orthodox." 
He  emitted  several  epigrams  and  facetiae,  but  nothing  bubbled 
up  as  from  a  fountain  of  serene  light  and  joy.  Perhaps  it  was 
in  my  imagination,  but  I  thought  I  had  seldom  seen  eyes  and  a 
face  expressing  greater  wretchedness.  It  was  indeed  the  counte 
nance  of  a  great  soul  in  desolation.  After  a  while  he  pulled 
out  a  Memphis  sectarian  paper  in  which  he  was  denounced 
as  the  Devil  for  his  heresies.  "Well,"  with  a  shrug,  "if  I  am 
the  Devil,  then  the  Devil  is  a  much  better  fellow  than  I  took  him 
to  be." 

New  York,  March  26,  1873.  Room  28,  Bible  House.  Yester 
day  I  took  temporary  possession  of  these  pleasant  rooms  in  this 
dignified  building.  My  own  desk  is  not  ready  for  me,  and  for  a 
few  days  I  am  to  use  that  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  Is  there  an 
omen  in  that?  On  the  first  of  May  I  am  to  have  another  one, 
which  I  shall  fit  up  for  my  study.  Here  I  am  to  come  mornings 
and  busy  myself  in  real  study,  and  it  is  not  until  after  one  that 
I  shall  go  to  the  office.  Last  evening  I  spent  with  Elisha 
Mulford.  If  I  could  take  time  to  describe  and  report  his  talk 
it  would  be  worth  the  trouble. 

New  York,  March  31,  1873.  I  lectured  last  Thursday  at  Car- 
bondale,  Pa.,  and  happily  that  ends  my  toils  of  that  kind  for  this 
spring.  My  Old  English  ballads  has  proved  the  most  successful 
lecture  I  have  ever  given.  On  Saturday  last  I  received  from 
Chancellor  Winchell  an  invitation  to  deliver  the  commencement 
address  before  the  University  of  Syracuse  next  June,  and,  after 
some  moments  of  doubt  as  to  want  of  time,  decided  to  do  it. 
This  morning  I  have  been  growing  to  the  subject:  The  first  col- 
leges  and  college  builders  of  America.  Yesterday  I  spent  mostly 
in  writing  a  review  of  Grace  Greenwood's  brilliant  book,  New 
life  in  new  lands. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  79 

New  York,  April  i,  i#7J.  Yesterday  found  note  on  my  desk 
written  by  A.  D.  White  inviting  me  to  dine  with  him  and  a  few 
friends  at  Union  League  Club.  He  greatly  encourages  me  to 
go  on  in  my  American  studies  and  intimated  when  my  lectures 
were  ready  I  should  have  a  professorship  to  my  liking  at  Cornell. 
At  the  dinner  were  David  A.  Wells,  Mr.  Walker,  Professor 
Botta,  Mr.  Appleton,  Dr.  Henry  M.  Field  and  others.  Wells 
impressed  me  by  his  force,  dignity,  wit,  and  air  of  reserved 
power.  He  discusses  or  narrates  well.  He  told  effectively  some 
good  stories,  apologizing  for  their  breadth.  He  expressed 
great  contempt  for  Grant,  his  dense  ignorance;  and  gave  il 
lustrations  of  it.  One  was  Grant's  wanting  a  duty  taken  off 
from  putty,  not  knowing  that  its  ingredients  were  white  lead 
and  linseed  oil. 

At  last  White  said:  "You  mustn't  bear  too  hard  on  Grant. 
After  all  he  keeps  up  a  good  deal  of  thinking."  "About what?" 
pungently  retorted  Wells,  quick  as  lightning. 

Wells  also  expressed  great  contempt  for  such  historians  as 
Prescott  and  Motley.  They  were  mere  story  tellers.  Their 
fame  is  too  great  for  the  sort  of  faculties  they  have  brought  into 
use.  Wells  said  that  L.  S.  Foster,  of  Norwich,  told  him  that 
many  years  ago  Motley,  who  had  produced  two  dead  novels, 
was  at  his  home,  when  everybody  was  talking  about  Prescott. 
Motley  said,  "I  believe  I  can  do  as  well  as  that  myself,  and  I'll 
see  about  it." 

On  the  evening  after  Motley  was  made  minister  to  England 
he  and  Wells  dined  together  and  Motley  expressed  his  inability 
to  understand  financial  questions  or  even  to  get  interested 
in  them.  Wells  said  that  fact  explains  the  great  defect  in 
Motley's  history.  He  does  not  see  that  it  was  the  Jews 
and  their  financial  influence  in  the  Netherlands  that  greatly 
influenced  its  politics  and  pushed  it  forward  to  religious 
toleration. 


80  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

25  April,  1873.  Last  eve  we  were  invited  to  a  dinner  at 
Professor  Botta's.  The  company  were:  Bret  Harte,  Grace 
Greenwood,  Frederick  Law  Olmsted,  and  others. 

Mr.  Olmsted  is  very  modest  and  quiet,  talks  hesitantly  and 
little,  has  a  big  forehead  with  diminishing  hair  on  top,  and  does 
not  look  like  the  man  of  executive  force  he  is. 

Bret  Harte  appears  well.  No  eccentricity  of  manner,  no  west- 
ernisms,  nothing  loud  or  ungainly,  but  a  self-possessed,  unassum 
ing  manner,  with  the  ease  and  tone  of  a  polished*  gentleman. 
He  was  the  lion  of  the  evening.  No  one  talked  brilliantly.  He 
usually  took  the  ludicrous  or  sarcastic  view  of  things.  I  fell 
into  talk  with  him  about  the  Modoc  Indians.  He  says  they  be 
long  to  the  Digger  tribe,  by  no  means  a  fierce  or  aggressive  body, 
and  that  they  have  been  goaded  into  fury  by  frauds  and  cruelties 
that  have  been  practised  upon  them.  He  rather  defended  them. 
Grace  Greenwood  was  dressed  to  represent  the  California  miner, 
and  impersonated,  with  clever  recitations,  some  of  Bret  Harte's 
poems. 

New  York,  6  May,  1873.  On  the  first  I  moved,  like  all  New 
Yorkers.  I  left  room  28  and  came  into  room  66,  where  I  now 
write,  and  where  I  expect  to  have  my  study  for  a  year  at  least. 
My  immediate  predecessor  in  this  room  was  Mr.  Frank  Moore, 
the  historian,  who,  returning  from  Paris  with  Minister  Wash- 
burn,  used  the  room  as  a  place  for  the  exhibition  of  books  and 
pictures  brought  from  Paris  and  for  sale.  My  carpet  is  a  straw 
matting  which  was  used  by  dear  Horace  Greeley  in  room  63, 
where  he  wrote  The  American  conflict.  So  as  a  writer  of 
American  history  I  am  not  without  some  inspiring  associations. 

New  York,  10  May,  1873.  Last  night  we  went  to  Association 
Hall  to  hear  George  Macdonald's  farewell  lecture  in  America. 
His  subject  was  Hamlet.  William  Cullen  Bryant,  who  pre- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  81 

sided  and  introduced  the  lecturer,  with  a  careful  and  graceful 
little  speech,  was  for  me  the  principal  inducement  to  go.  A 
number  of  persons  accompanied  the  lecturer  to  the  platform, 
Doctor  Bellows,  Dr.  William  Taylor,  Dr.  J.  G.  Holland,  etc. 
Bryant  I  had  never  seen  before,  but  I  instantly  recognized  him 
from  my  acquaintance  with  his  photographic  protraits.  The 
only  thing  about  him  fully  up  to  the  photographs  is  his  beard, 
which  is  of  oriental  profusion  and  majesty.  Perhaps  the  hard 
brightness  of  his  eyes  is  also  in  life  equal  to  the  pictures.  But 
his  forehead  and  upper  face  are  by  no  means  so  great  and  impres 
sive  as  I  had  been  led  to  expect;  his  frame,  which  I  somehow 
fancied  was  huge  and  burly,  is  not  tall  nor  broad  but  rather 
meagre.  He  does  not  look  amiable  or  particularly  generous, 
but  intensely  intellectual.  Indeed  his  body  is  apparently  under 
exquisite  subjection  to  the  service  of  his  soul.  His  speech  was 
evidently  written  out  and  memorized,  and  he  spoke  with  some 
hesitation,  and  in  one  case  a  decided  pause  to  recall  what  he  had 
learned,  a  mistaken  advance,  then  a  retreat,  to  put  in  what  he 
had  left  out,  etc.  Of  course  his  English  was  very  pure  and  his 
sentences  well  turned.  He  paid  graceful  compliments  to  the 
genius  of  George  Macdonald.  During  the  lecture  Mr.  Bryant 
fell  into  a  nap  more  than  once.  At  each  waking  he  reminded 
me  vividly  of  Jefferson  in  Rip  Van  Winkle,  after  his  vigintennial 
doze.  Byrant  usually  goes  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  and  this  was 
keeping  him  up  long  after  that  hour. 


New  York,  25  May,  1873.  Went  to  Plymouth  Church  this 
morning.  Beecher  preached  a  noble  sermon  on  the  limitations 
of  meaning  in  Christ's  words  in  the  sermon  on  the  mount.  After 
sermon  I  went  to  shake  hands  with  him.  He  said  to  me,  "I 
say,  old  fellow,  whenever  I  go  to  the  office  I  never  find  you 
there."  "That,"  I  replied,  "is  owing  to  the  fact  that  whenever 
I  go  there  you  never  come."  Whereupon  he  laughed  and  told 


82  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

with  much  mimic  humor  a  comical  story  of  a  man  in  a  wagon  who 
shouted  to  a  boy:  "What  do  you  bawl  so  for  whenever  I  go 
by?57  The  boy  replied,  "What  do  you  go  by  for  whenever  I 
bawl?" 

New  York,  December  28,  1873.  No.  27  W.  i8th  St.  Ever 
since  last  August  we  have  boarded  at  this  house.  Among  other 
people  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Oliver  Johnson  are  at  our  table.  He  excels 
in  anecdotes  about  ministers.  Here  is  one:  Rev.  Dr.  Parkman, 
of  Boston,  father  of  the  Doctor  Parkman  who  was  murdered  by 
Professor  Webster,  was  a  very  short,  slender  man  with  a  mild 
feminine  voice.  One  Sunday  he  exchanged  with  a  country 
minister.  The  latter  was  a  very  tall  man  and  his  pulpit  was 
adapted  to  his  altitude.  When  Doctor  Parkman  arose,  merely 
the  top  of  his  head  was  visible  over  the  pulpit,  and  when  he 
came  to  give  out  his  text,  he  said  in  a  squeaky  voice,  "It  is  I, 
be  not  afraid!" 

New  York,  28  January,  1874.  Last  night  went  to  a  party  at 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  M.  Field's,  given  particularly  in  honor  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Dudley  Warner.  There  was  a  great 
throng  and  many  notables  were  there  —  Bryant,  John  Bigelow, 
Stedman,  Dr.  W.  B.  Adams,  George  Ripley,  etc.  Doctor  Field 
introduced  me  to  Bryant,  who  was  in  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Stedman.  I  was  appalled  at  the  thought  of  meeting  him  and 
didn't  know  how  to  start  the  conversation.  He  kindly  broke 
the  ice  after  a  few  moments'  delay  by  asking  me  if  I  had  lived 
in  New  York  long.  This  gave  me  a  beginning  and  all  things  went 
on  smoothly  then.  He  told  me  that  he  read  our  paper  every 
week,  and  that  he  had  seen  my  review  of  his  Orations  last  summer. 
"It  was  very  kind,"  he  added.  His  tones  in  speech  are  just  a 
little  angular  and  sharp,  with  a  trace  of  the  New  England  in 
flection.  While  we  were  talking  Doctor  Holland  came  up  and  said 
to  Byrant,  pointing  to  me,  "This  man  says  he  has  just  been  on 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  83 

my  track  "(referring  to  what  I  had  said  a  few  minutes  before 
to  Doctor  Holland).  "What  does  he  mean  by  that?"  said  Bryant. 
"Why,  he  has  been  off  lecturing  in  the  western  part  of  this 
state  and  has  followed  me  in  towns  where  I  had  just  before  lec 
tured.  I  believe  you  have  never  lectured  any,  Mr.  Bryant, 
taking  carpet-bag  in  hand  and  trudging  from  town  to  town?" 
Bryant:  "No." 

By  some  link  the  talk  became  connected  with  the  subject  of 
memory  and  Doctor  Holland  told  of  Bayard  Taylor's  saying  that 
he  could  not  forget  anything;  that  all  he  heard  or  read,  good 
or  bad,  stuck  to  him,  and  sometimes  it  was  hard  to  distinguish 
between  what  he  himself  originated  and  what  he  only  remem 
bered.  Bayard  Taylor  cited  the  case  of  his  reading  a  poem  in  a 
newspaper  in  a  chop-house  in  London,  and  months  afterward 
in  America  some  circumstance  reminded  him  of  it,  and  he  found 
he  could  repeat  the  whole  poem. 

Bryant  replied  that  he  himself  had  a  good  memory;  that  any 
address  he  wrote  was  immediately  imprinted  on  his  mind,  and 
that  if  all  his  poems  were  burnt  up  he  could  replace  them  from 
memory. 

Upon  the  whole  Bryant's  bearing  was  worthy  of  his  great 
name,  dignified,  most  self-respectful,  gentle,  unassuming,  kindly. 
I  had  no  other  talk  that  was  memorable,  and  we  came  away  early. 

New  Yorky  2  February,  1874.  Having  finished  a  careful  reading 
of  Sparks's  writings  of  Washington,  I  commence  to-day  the 
writings  of  Jefferson  in  nine  volumes.  I  am  also  midway  in 
Marshall's  Life  of  Washington,  but  being  tired  of  battles  I  turn  to 
Jefferson's  racy,  versatile,  and  brilliant  compositions.  Last  night 
I  heard  a  paper  by  President  Welling,  of  Columbia  University, 
on  the  Mecklenburg  Declaration  of  Independence.  It  was  an 
exquisite  specimen  of  historical  criticism,  and  annihilates  the 
last  pretense  to  authenticity  in  that  notorious  document.  Met 


84  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Dr.  George  Moore  at  the  Historical  Society.  Incidentally  he 
expressed  great  contempt  for  Lessing  as  a  historian,  considering 
him  a  mere  hack,  besides  being  credulous  and  even  reckless  about 
facts. 

New  York,  13  May,  1874.  My  life  in  New  York  is  very  dis 
tasteful  to  me.  I  hate  the  newspaper  and  its  work;  but  I  must 
work  on  faithfully  till  I  have  paid  the  penalty  for  my  blunders 
and  sins. 

New  York,  18  May,  1874.  I  was  offered  yesterday  the  posi 
tion  of  associate  managing  editor  of  the  Evening  post,  salary 
$4,000.  The  offer  was  brought  to  me  by  Robert  Dale  Owen. 
I  thanked  him,  but  told  him  that  my  next  move  would  be  out  of 
journalism  altogether  rather  than  any  further  into  it. 

This  morning  I  had  the  best  working  mood  I  have  had  for 
weeks.  Topics  tumble  in  upon  me  like  breakers  on  the  beach. 

New  York,  June  30,  1874.  This  morning  took  breakfast  at  the 
Quaker  Dairy  and  saw  in  the  Times  Theodore  Tilton's  published 
reply  to  Doctor  Bacon  concerning  the  Beecher  scandal.  I  could 
not  eat.  At  the  office  all  day,  trying  to  work  and  waiting  for 
events.  The  subject  is  everywhere  talked  of.  It  is  very  bad. 
The  question  now  is,  Will  Beecher  say  anything?  And  what  can 
he  say? 

New  York,  14  August,  1874.  Oh,  this  weary,  disgusting  edi 
torial  work!  When  shall  I  be  rid  of  it?  Ah,  this  is  my  purga 
tory,  in  which  I  am  expiating  my  sins  of  hasty  conclusion  and  of 
putting  out  my  own  thinking  to  be  done  for  me.  Rose  early 
and  by  6:30  was  reading  Beecher's  defence  in  the  Tribune.  It 
is  an  able  and  plausible  document,  but  not  compelling  conviction. 
It  furnishes  an  hypo  thesis  of  innocence  to  those  who  must  have 
one,  of  innocence  at  the  expense  of  Beecher's  supposed  good 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  85 

sense,  knowledge  of  human  nature,  penetration,  foresight,   or 
moral  courage. 

New  York,  15  August,  1874.  This  morning  a  new  batch  of 
materials  about  the  nauseous  scandal,  Beecher's  cross-examina 
tion  and  Tilton's  letters  to  his  wife  and  hers  to  him.  I  am  waiting 
as  patiently  as  I  can  for  news  from  Doctor  Angell,  deciding 
my  destiny  as  to  Ann  Arbor.  C.  K.  Adams  thinks  it  very  prob-  \ 
able  that  in  my  case  the  regents  will  violate  their  rule  of  never 
recalling  a  man  who  has  left  them.  I  feel  that  I  am  going  there; 
but  I  try  to  keep  my  heart  free.  There  are  many  advantages 
in  not  going;  but  going  would  give  me  an  easier  life. 

New  York,  18  August,  1874.  My  impression  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  is  utterly  at  war  with  that  respect  which  a  man  should 
feel  for  his  chief.  I  think  he  has  been  a  profligate  man,  grossly 
so,  and  has  tried  to  cover  up  his  crimes  by  hypocrisy,  lying,  and 
unutterable  sneaking  and  meanness. 

As  I  believe  in  God,  so  do  I  believe  that  the  laws  of  God  must 
and  will  be  vindicated  by  the  utter  unmasking  and  public  infamy  , 
of  this  man.     But  while  I  am  on  his  paper  I  hold  my  tongue. 
Even  his  salary  cannot  prevent  me  from  thinking. 

New  York,  21  August,  1874.     Moulton's  full  statement  ap-  ^ 
peared  in  the  Graphic.     It  comes  too  late  to  produce  a  serious 
effect  on  the  public  mind. 

New  York,  25  August,  1874.  The  long-expected  letter  from 
President  Angell  came  this  morning,  and  tells  me  to  set  my  house 
in  order  for  going.  I  go.  Had  this  come  suddenly,  I  should 
have  been  in  ecstasy,  but  I  have  had  time  to  prepare  for  it,  and 
my  happiness  in  the  solution  of  my  destiny  is  calm  but  very 
sweet. 

New  York,  2  September,  1874.     In  passing  from  Broadway 


86  LIFE  OF  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  the  office  in  Park  place  I  saw  Theodore  Tilton  coming  toward 
me.  Had  not  seen  him  for  several  months.  He  is  growing 
gray,  but  on  the  whole  has  a  firm  and  resolute  look.  We  greeted 
each  other  cordially,  but  both  were  somewhat  constrained.  He 
said,  he  "was  well,  never  better";  joked  about  our  paper  getting 
up  a  great  scandal;  asked  what  had  got  into  Oliver;  said, 
"It  is  a  big  fight."  "An  awful  fight,"  I  replied,  to  which  he  said, 
"And  it  isn't  ended  yet."  He  asked  me  to  lunch  with  him, 
but  I  told  him  I  had  lunched.  He  wanted  at  least  ten  minutes, 
but  I  told  him  that  while  I  was  employed  by  Henry  Ward  Beech- 
er  I  could  not  freely  converse  with  him,  but  that  I  hoped  that  we 
might  meet  in  happier  circumstances,  when  we  could  talk  freely. 
I  wanted  to  express  myself  freely  to  Theodore,  but  I  put  a  power 
ful  padlock  on  my  lips.  I  resolve  if  possible  to  keep  my  name 
out  of  this  repulsive  business. 

New  York,  12  September,  1874.  This  has  been  a  happy  day; 
for  at  twelve  o'clock  I  bade  farewell  to  George  S.  Merriam,  Col. 
C.  L.  Norton,  and  others,  and  marched  out  of  the  Christian  union 
office  with  the  joy  of  a  prisoner  out  of  the  penitentiary. 

Ann  Arbor,  16  September,  1874.  Home  again!  Up  and  out 
before  breakfast  in  the  sweet  and  still  morning.  The  tranquillity 
of  the  place  is  like  balm  to  my  brain  and  nerves.  After  dinner 
entered  for  the  first  time  my  dear  old  lecture  room.  I  am  alone. 
The  room  is  clean  and  cheerful  and  gives  me  welcome.  Here  I 
feel  I  am  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days.  I  am  full  of  peace. 
My  prayer  is  answered.  I  thank  God  for  his  goodness  to  me  in 
putting  me  here  again. 

[The  next  few  months  were  spent  in  profound  peace  and  sat 
isfaction —  work  in  the  class-room  and  work  on  his  book,  A 
manual  of  English  literature,  published  in  England  in  1873  by 
Henry  Morley,  thoroughly  revised  and  adapted  to  American 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  87 

students  through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Morley  himself.  It  was 
not  published  in  America  until  1879,  after  having  been 
rearranged  with  much  new  material.] 

New  York,  31  December,  1874.  Arrived  in  New  York.  Saw 
Frank  Moulton.  He  is  greatly  changed  since  six  months.  He 
looks  as  if  he  had  suffered  great  trouble.  He  began  by  telling  me 
the  line  of  facts  proving  his  fidelity  to  Beecher  while  their  friend 
ship  lasted.  The  conversation  ranged  over  the  whole  topic 
of  abominations.  Frank  frequently  applied  to  Beecher  such 
names  as  "  that  damned  sneak  and  libertine. "  I  told  him  frankly 
what  I  thought  had  been  his  principal  mistakes.  The  greatest 
was  that  he  had  called  Butler  into  the  case,  a  man  without  moral 
sense  or  delicacy  or  any  other  wisdom  than  low  cunning.  Frank 
told  me  how  Butler  came  into  the  case  as  Beecher's  friend,  and 
read  me  some  of  the  testimony  which  Mrs.  Moulton  is  going  to 
give.  It  is  most  explicit.  F.  B.  Carpenter  came  in  while  we 
were  at  dinner,  and  when  at  about  eight  we  started  to  go  to 
Theodore's  he  went  with  us.  It  was  just  four  years  ago  to-night, 
Moulton  said,  that  he  extorted  the  retraction  from  Beecher  in 
the  famous  pistol  scene.  Theodore's  house  looked  cheerless 
enough.  When  Theodore  saw  me,  he  sprang  toward  me  and 
hugged  me  affectionately.  He  told  me  the  characteristics  of  all 
his  lawyers  and  of  those  opposed  to  him;  expressed  no  certain 
confidence  concerning  the  result,  but  an  inflexible  purpose  to 
fight  the  battle  through  to  the  end  even  though  he  should  perish. 
His  appearance  and  manner  were  much  in  his  favor,  no  bravado 
or  conceit,  but  a  solemnly  earnest,  calm,  and  grand  manner. 
About  half-past  ten  we  left  Theodore,  he  conveying  us  to  the 
door.  It  was  a  wrecked  home.  Just  seven  years  ago  to-night 
I  stopped  there  for  the  first  time.  It  was  then  a  paradise.  Car 
penter  and  I  walked  uptown  together,  passing  Grace  Church  just 
as  the  New  Year's  chimes  were  ringing  at  twelve  o'clock. 


88  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  York,  3  January,  1875.  At  about  eleven  this  morning  I 
called  on  George  Ripley,  the  veteran  literary  editor  of  the 
Tribune.  He  lives  in  an  elegant  way.  He  was  very  glad  to  see 
me  and  would  not  let  me  make  a  short  call.  He  told  me  some 
interesting  things  about  Bancroft.  He  said  that  Bancroft  is  a 
good  talker  in  monologue,  and  under  a  little  stimulus.  He  is  a 
poor  listener,  and  is  manifestly  inattentive  to  what  is  said  to  him. 
This  is  one  reason  of  his  personal  unpopularity.  Many  years 
ago  Ripley  lived  neighbor  to  Bancroft  in  Boston.  One  day 
Ripley  had  a  friend  with  him,  when  Bancroft  came  in  and  was 
introduced.  Bancroft  began  in  rather  a  high-horse  fashion, 
declaring  that  most  great  battles  had  been  won  by  men  who  were 
ardently  interested  in  the  object  contended  for.  To  this  Mr. 

said  bluntly,  "That  is  not  so,"  and  cited  the  case  of  the 

sea-fight  in  the  War  of  1812  between  the  Guerribre  and  the  ship 
Constitution  in  which  the  marines  on  the  victorious  ship  had  to 
be  forced  to  the  guns  by  the  officers  threatening  to  shoot  them 
if  they  deserted  their  posts.  Upon  this  Bancroft  was  aroused 
to  defend  his  position,  and  in  impassioned  and  eloquent  language 
went  over  the  principal  battles  of  modern  times,  giving  names, 
dates,  etc.,  and  pouring  forth  an  overwhelming  flood  of  learning. 

In  the  midst  of  it  Mr. broke  in,  "Sir,  are  you  reciting  from 

a  book,  or  are  you  really  talking?"  "  I  am  talking,  sir! "  squealed 
Bancroft,  and  rushed  on  in  his  impetuous  argument.  At  last, 

having  finished,  he  abruptly  left  the  house.  Mr. exclaimed, 

"Who  under  heaven  is  this  wonderful  man?"  "Why,  didn't 
you  understand  the  name?  It  is  Bancroft,  George  Bancroft." 
"What!  the  historian?"  cried  Mr. ,  now  thoroughly  intimi 
dated  at  his  own  audacity  in  presuming  to  contradict  him. 

Mr.  Ripley  said  that  Bancroft  toils  tremendously  in  writing 
history,  getting  up  his  materials  with  great  care,  writing  and 
rewriting  indefatigably.  Years  ago,  on  Mr.  Ripley's  going  to 
Bancroft's  house  in  the  evening,  he  used  to  find  the  historian 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  89 

and  his  wife  going  over  what  had  been  written,  and  Mrs.  Bancroft 
would  often  say:  "Listen  to  this,  Mr.  Ripley.  Don't  you  think 
it  is  too  florid?"  etc.,  etc.  Mr.  Ripley  thinks  it  incredible  that 
Bancroft  has  ever  consciously  misstated  anything,  or  perverted 
testimony,  as  he  is  accused  of  doing.  Ripley  also  thinks  that 
Bancroft  means  now  to  press  on  with  his  work,  not  to  spend  much 
time  in  revising  the  past  volumes,  but  to  finish,  in  two  or  three 
more  volumes,  his  history  down  to  recent  times.  More  easily 
said  than  done,  I  think. 

Mr.  Ripley  is  very  witty,  cordial  and  extremely  modest  in 
self -reference.  He  does  not  pretend  to  be  a  literary  critic,  only 
a  reporter  of  new  books,  letting  the  books  themselves  tell  their 
own  story.  As  an  instance  of  his  wit;  I  was  describing  a  certain 
literary  charlatan  as  having  much  learning  in  his  head,  but  hav 
ing  where  his  conscience  ought  to  be  nothing  but  a  vacuum,  which 
nature  abhors,  "  especially  in  that  place,"  quickly  interposed 
Mr.  Ripley. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Feb.  15,  Ann  Arbor 
DEAR  JACK: 

I  have  been  as  busy  as  a  pickpocket  for  the  last  six  weeks,  and 
this  is  why  I  have  limited  myself  to  the  enjoyment  of  receiving 
your  letters  without  adding  to  my  satisfaction  by  writing  a  few. 

When  I  got  yours  of  the  sixth  I  intended  to  write  to  you  at 
the  Arlington  in  Washington,  but  this  purpose,  like  so  many 
other  good  ones  I  have  formed,  simply  went  into  the  pavement 
of  the  bad  place. 

Yours  reached  me  just  as  I  was  leaving  for  Wooster  University, 
Ohio.  At  the  latter  place  I  gave  an  address  and  was  rewarded 
by  a  respectable  fee  and  the  title  of  LL.  D.  Notwithstanding 
the  latter  dignity,  I  will  still  permit  you  to  correspond  with  me  on 
the  terms  of  familiarity  to  which  you  have  grown  accustomed. 

Yours  affectionately, 

MOSE. 


9o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO   SHELDON  AND  CO. 

University  of  Michigan,  March  5, 

To  MESSRS.  SHELDON  AND  Co.,  PUBLISHERS: 

Sir:  Our  Professor  Morris  some  time  since  handed  to  me  the 
copy  of  Backus's  edition  of  Shaw's  English  literature  which  you 
by  mistake  sent  to  him. 

I  am  pleased  with  it,  but  prefer  for  our  use  the  Complete  man 
ual,  which  accordingly  I  have  introduced.  Your  letters  speak 
of  a  "discount."  We  care  nothing  about  that.  Do  you  suppose 
that  we  are  in  the  book- trade? 

Truly  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MR. ,  OF  DETROIT,  MICHIGAN 

Ann  Arbor,  March  5,  1875 
DEAR  SIR: 

The  opinions  of  Christian  scholars  and  thinkers  are  nearly 
unanimous  now  that  the  Bible  was  not  intended  to  be  a  revela 
tion  in  geology,  or  botany,  or  astronomy,  or  any  other  physical 
science,  but  a  revelation  of  spiritual  truth  alone;  and  that  in 
all  these  other  matters  the  writers  were  permitted  by  the  Divine 
Spirit  to  reflect  the  notions  that  prevailed  in  their  time,  without 
which  their  utterances  on  spiritual  things  would  have  seemed 
preposterous  to  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 

As  to  the  Mosaic  account  of  creation,  the  word  translated 
"days"  is  commonly  understood  to  mean  "periods,"  and  each 
period  may  have  been  a  geological  epoch. 

If  you  would  like  to  read  a  good  book  on  the  subject  by  a 
Christian  scientist,  get  Winchell's  Sketches  of  creation,  which 
will  greatly  delight  you. 

Cordially  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  9! 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  DR.  DIO  LEWIS 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

As  I  am  not  able  to  keep  an  amanuensis,  and  as  my  labors 
during  the  term  consume  all  my  strength,  it  follows  that  my  cor 
respondents  get  shabbily  treated.  This  is  why  I  have  not  sooner 
thanked  you  for  remembering  me  with  a  copy  of  your  new  book, 
Chastity.  I  have  examined  it  carefully.  I  find  in  it  evi 
dence  of  the  great  care  and  of  the  high  mood  in  which  it  was 
composed;  and  I  cannot  doubt  that  so  frank  and  noble-minded  a 
discussion  of  topics,  usually  consigned  to  a  silence  that  is  at 
once  squeamish  and  criminal,  will  be  of  immense  use  to  multi 
tudes  of  men  and  women. 

Give  my  affectionate  regards  to  dear  Mrs.  Lewis.  I  am  most 
happy  to  be  home  again  and  five  hundred  miles  from  the  foul 
focus  of  the  Brooklyn  wave.  Wishing  you  many  more  years  of 
usefulness, 

Cordially  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  A  MAN  LIVING  IN  DETROIT 

Ann  Arbor,  May  16,  1875 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  reluctant  to  meet  "an 
avowed  anti-Christian,"  especially  when  the  one  referred  to  is 
well  known  to  me  by  his  own  writings  and  by  personal  report  as 
a  man  possessed  of  all  those  nobilities  of  character  which  I  under 
stand  as  Christian.  After  all,  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  defini 
tions.  If  I  took  his  definition  of  Christianity,  I  hope  that  I 
should  have  the  decency  to  be  "an  avowed  anti-Christian,"  too. 
Besides,  the  men  whom  I  most  like  to  meet  are  by  no  means  those 
whom  I  personally  agree  with.  .  ... 

All  of  which  is  to  say  that  I  should  like  to  be  with  you  and 
will  do  so  if  I  can.  My  wife  and  I  had  already  arranged  to  make 
a  family  visit  to  Detroit  next  Sunday.  I  will  try  to  see  you,  and 


92  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

perhaps  I  shall  then  know  whether  we  can  come  in  on  the  week 
following. 

With  affectionate  regards  from  us  both  to  you  all, 

Yours  heartily, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


LETTER   FROM   MOSES    COIT   TYLER   TO   PAUL   HAYNE 

Ann  Arbor,  June  5, 

MY  DEAR  AND  HONORED  FRIEND: 

I  hope  that  your  faith  and  charity  toward  me  have  not 
been  entirely  drained  by  my  neglect  to  write.  In  truth,  it  is 
not  my  fault  but  the  fault  of  circumstances.  I  am  doing  double 
duty  in  the  university  this  year  in  order  to  accommodate  one  of 
my  associates  who  had  to  go  to  China  to  observe  the  transit  of 
Venus.  So  that,  after  all,  that  radiant  but  mischievous  god 
dess  is  to  blame  for  my  sin,  as  she  has  been  for  the  sins  of  so 
many  other  better  men  than  I. 

First  of  all  let  me  inform  you  that  the  new  volume  of  your 
poems  has  not  reached  me  yet.  Of  course  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  see  it  and  shall  look  forward  to  having  it  as  a  gift  from  your 
generous  heart.  ...  I  wish  that  you  could  come  and  spend 
with  us  a  few  weeks  of  this  enchanting  season,  in  the  midst  of 
the  lovely  pastoral  scenery  which  surrounds  us  here.  What  a 
treat  it  would  be  to  have  a  real  live  poet  with  us,  too! 

Write  soon  and  I'll  try  to  be  more  prompt  in  future. 

Heartily  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


LETTER   FROM    MOSES    COIT   TYLER   TO    THEODORE   TILTON 

Ann  Arbor,  July  3,  1^75 
MY  DEAR  THEODORE  : 

Ever  since  the  tenth  of  December,  1870,  when  Oliver  John 
son,  at  your  request,  told  me  the  story  of  crime  and  sorrow 
involving  your  household,  I  have  never  thought  of  you  except 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  93 

with  anguish,  the  anguish  of  a  loyal  and  sympathetic  friendship. 
I  cannot  now  utter  my  full  thought  to  you  without  here  saying 
what  may  seem  cruel  and  hard — namely,  that  much  of  your  course 
since  that  time  has  given  me  pain,  being  the  opposite  of  what 
I  thought  wise  and  right;  but  I  have  excused  you  in  my  heart, 
in  the  belief  that  you  were  staggering  along,  under  the  load  of  a 
secret  too  horrible  for  mortal  strength  to  bear,  with  steady  gait, 
as  you  had  promised  to  do.  But  in  this  emergency  of  your  life, 
I  want  to  say  to  you  that  I  still  believe  in  you;  and  that  I  can 
still  see  for  you,  even  after  all  this  flame  and  blackness,  the 
possibility  of  a  great  career.  The  intimacy  of  life  that  has  been 
between  you  and  me  has  left  on  me  the  impression  of  a  noble  and 
a  great  nature.  In  all  our  intercourse  and  confidential  talk 
together  your  prevailing  expression  through  word  and  act  has 
been  that  of  a  high-minded,  pure,  and  magnanimous  man;  and 
the  things  said  against  you  in  this  trial  implying  personal  baseness 
I  feel  must  be  calumnies.  The  result  of  the  trial  is  as  favorable 
to  justice  and  to  you  as  was  to  be  expected  in  Brooklyn  and  this 
year.  But  the  true  trial  is  yet  to  come.  The  real  jury  are  not 
these  twelve  men  nor  even  contemporaries;  they  are  those  who 
shall  be  born  after  all  who  are  now  alive  are  dead.  I  doubt  if 
the  testimony  will  all  be  in  for  a  hundred  years  yet.  In  that 
slow  process  of  the  future  through  which  the  whole  truth 
will  come  out,  exact  justice  will  also  be  done;  and  I  do  not 
dread  to  have  my  children  and  grandchildren  know  that  I  lived 
and  died  the  friend  of  Theodore  Tilton.  I  cannot  yet  tell  whether 
your  honor  will  yet  permit  you  to  drop  utterly  out  of  life 
all  thought  of  Beecher,  and  of  his  past,  but  I  hope  so.  I  implore 
you  if  possible  now  to  turn  away  from  this  loathsome  topic  and 
to  return  to  your  true  vocation  as  a  literary  artist  and  an  orator 
and  to  give  the  public  the  means  of  linking  your  mind  with  other 
associations  than  those  of  this  execrable  theme  that  has  shocked, 
appalled,  and  degraded  the  civilized  world. 

God  bless  you,  dear  Theodore,  and  help  you  to  build  grandly 
the  edifice  of  that  splendid  and  beneficent  career  that  is  open  to 
you. 

I  want  to  give  my  hand  in  honest  friendship  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frank  Moulton,  whom  I  know  to  be  the  victims  of  awful  slanders 


94  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

told  for  a  cowardly  purpose  and  destined  to  perish.     Their  vin 
dication  is  going  on  swiftly  and  will  be  complete. 

With  most  earnest  prayers  that  heaven  may  guide   you,  I 
am,  dear  Theodore, 

Your  old  and  faithful  friend, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


LETTER  FROM   MOSES    COIT    TYLER   TO    MR.    PUTNAM 

New  York,  August  9, 


GEORGE  H.  PUTNAM,  ESQ. 
My  dear  Sir: 

Since  receiving  your  letter  of  the  31  July,  I  have  been 
taken  from  my  desk  by  outdoor  engagements  and  have  really 
been  unable  to  write  sooner.  Besides  I  wanted  to  let  our  busi 
ness  soak  awhile  in  unconscious  mental  fermentation,  that  there 
might  be  no  mistake  about  the  final  decision.  Upon  the  whole 
I  am  inclined  to  go  on  with  the  thing  after  all,  provided  the  sug 
gestions  I  am  about  to  make  do  not  present  any  insuperable 
objections. 

(i)  With  God's  help,  I  mean  to  do  in  this  life  no  more  hack 
work,  and  no  more  second-hand  work  of  any  sort.  Alas!  I  have 
done  enough  already.  If  I  do  this  work,  I  must  do  it  thoroughly, 
and  artistically,  from,  knowledge  of  my  own  in  every  case;  from 
a  direct  study  of  the  quellen.  I  am  a  special  student  of  American 
history,  and  have  paid  particular  attention  to  what  we  dignify 
as  literature  in  America  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen 
turies.  Still,  if  I  make  a  critical  survey  of  the  field  I  shall  need 
to  run  it  over  again.  So  of  the  greater  and  more  fruitful  period 
of  our  century. 

Therefore  (2)  I  must  have  time  enough  to  satisfy  both  my 
scholarly  and  my  literary  conscience.  Probably  I  could  not 
have  the  book  ready  for  your  hands  before  May  i,  1876.  I  have 
the  materials  well  in  hand  and  can  set  apart  a  good  deal  of  time 
for  the  work,  but  I  should  not  dare  to  hope  for  an  earlier  achieve 
ment  of  the  thing. 

(3)  My  salary  here  supports  me  snugly,  but  if  I  want  extra 
money  for  books,  I  need  to  do  extra  work  for  it.  Should  I  set 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  95 

about  this  business  I  should  need  some  books  that  are  not  to 
be  had  here.  Would  you  like  to  furnish  them  to  me,  letting 
the  payments  wait  till  we  see  whether  my  book  brings  in  any 
thing? 

If  you  can  arrange  these  things,  I  authorize  you  to  announce 
the  book  as  in  preparation.  With  reference  to  the  possible  use 
of  Arnold's  book  on  English  literature,  of  course,  it  would  be 
best  to  say  nothing  about  it  at  present. 

Faithfully  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  GEORGE  H.  PUTNAM 

Ann  Arbor,  August  27,  1875 
DEAR  SIR: 

I  have  yours  of  the  twenty-fourth  and  have  already  set  to 
work  upon  the  task  which  you  suggested  and  which  grows  more 
and  more  attractive  as  I  think  of  it. 

With  reference  to  the  time  of  completion,  I  can  see  the  great 
importance  of  having  the  book  ready  for  taking  the  Centennial 
enthusiasm  at  its  flood.  All  that  I  can  say  is  that  I  will  do  my 
best.  If  I  had  my  whole  time  and  the  necessary  books  within 
my  reach  I  could  do  it.  As  it  is,  I  have  my  university  work  to 
occupy  and  fatigue  me;  and  shall  have  to  borrow  and  buy  and 
bring  here  works  which  in  New  York  or  Boston  would  be  access 
ible  to  me  in  public  libraries.  However,  my  habits  of  application 
are  pretty  good,  and  I  may  pull  through  to  the  goal  sooner  than 
I  have  supposed.  If  I  can  get  down  to  the  Revolutionary  war 
by  Christmas  I  shall  quite  expect  to  be  ready  with  the  rest  by 
April  i. 

As  to  title,  if  it  were  not  for  the  arrogance  of  it,  I  should 
prefer  History  of  American  literature.  Suppose  we  begin  with 
the  modest  one  which  you  seem  to  have  fallen  upon,  and  call  it 
A  survey  of  American  literature.  If  when  the  thing  is  done  it 
seems  worthy  of  being  called  a  history,  I  suppose  that  nobody 
would  be  hurt  by  our  changing  it  to  that.  I  shall  be  in  New 
York  at  Christmas  and  shall  save  up  a  bundle  of  topics  to  consult 
you  about 


96  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  have  this  season  built  on  my  own  grounds  here,  on  a  hill  com 
manding  the  valley  of  the  Huron,  a  fire-proof  brick  study.  I 
fancy  that  it  is  the  most  complete  literary  workshop  in  the  West. 
Its  particular  virtue  is  that  it  is  safe  against  the  evil  of  fire;  and 
I  can  ask  with  some  grace  of  such  friends  as  George  H.  Moore  and 
Benson  J.  Lossing  the  loan  of  some  books  difficult  to  get  in  the 
market  at  short  notice. 

Have  you  among  your  friends  any  one  of  whom  I  could  borrow 
rarities  in  early  American  literature?  In  a  week  or  two,  when 
I  shall  have  ascertained  what  I  can  lay  my  hands  on  here  and  in 
Detroit,  I  will  send  you  the  names  of  some  books  I  may  need. 

Yours  faithfully, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1876  —  1879 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MESSRS.  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Ann  Arbor,  March  28,  1876 
MESSRS.  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 
Gentlemen : 

I  have  been  feeling  for  some  time  past  that  I  must  write  you 
at  some  length  a  letter  which  should  report  to  you  the  progress 
of  my  labors  on  the  book  I  have  promised  to  write  for  you; 
and  especially  because  in  grappling  with  the  subject  I  find  the 
work  if  done  in  a  scholarly  way  far  slower  and  far  more  extensive 
and  difficult  than  I  expected.  Moreover,  in  actually  dealing 
with  it  I  discover  the  possibility  of  making  a  far  more  interesting 
and  important  book  than  I  expected;  and  while  I  stand  ready 
to  complete  for  you  the  Outlines  or  Survey  of  American  literature 
(if  on  reading  my  statement  you  still  desire  it),  I  have  also  de 
termined  to  make  a  book  to  be  published  by  some  one  and  con 
stituting  an  elaborate  History  of  American  literature  in  at 
least  two  and  perhaps  in  three  volumes. 

To  go  back  a  little,  let  me  say  that  ever  since  I  undertook 
the  writing  of  the  Survey  for  you  I  have  worked  at  it  very  in 
dustriously,  never  stopping  except  for  university  duties,  sickness, 
rest,  and  other  inevitable  interruptions.  The  subject  has  con 
stantly  grown  upon  my  interest;  and  I  have  no  greater  satis 
faction  in  life  than  to  be  engaged  upon  it.  And  I  have  made 
good  progress;  but  I  find  it  utterly  impossible  to  get  it  done 
within  the  limits  of  the  time  that  we  have  set  for  ourselves. 
You  will  remember  that  I  told  you  from  the  outset  that  I  should 
take  no  conclusions  at  second-hand,  but  should  express  my  opin 
ion  of  every  author  from  my  own  original  study  of  him.  Ob 
serve  that  even  if  I  were  willing  to  compile  a  book  (as  Swinton 

97 


98  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

or  Quackenbos  does)  out  of  other  people's  labors,  I  could  not 
do  this  in  American  literature;  for  other  people  have  not  wrought 
in  this  field  sufficiently  to  make  their  labors  available  in  that 
way.  In  English  literature  it  is  very  different;  there  every 
period  has  been  traversed  by  great  and  sure  scholars  like  Warton, 
Marsh,  Hallam,  Morley,  Massen,  Macaulay,  and  so  on;  and 
by  simply  reading  a  few  of  these  authors  a  clever  book  fabricator 
like  Swinton  could  knock  together  a  Survey  of  English  litera 
ture  without  the  need  of  stud3ring  directly  one  solitary  author 
whom  he  includes  in  his  Survey.  But  not  so  in  American 
literature  —  especially  for  the  period  prior  to  the  present  century, 
which  may  be  described  as  the  interior  of  Africa  is  on  the  maps 
—  "unexplored  territory."  I  find  almost  no  help  from  previous 
investigators  of  American  literature  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries;  so  that  even  if  I  were  willing  to  compile 
my  book  for  you,  I  could  not  do  it. 

But  as  I  told  you  from  the  beginning,  this  is  a  sort  of  work 
for  which  I  have  no  respect,  and  I  will  not  do  it;  and  the  only 
way  in  which  I  can  write  a  Survey  of  American  literature  is 
actually  to  make  a  survey  of  it.  That  I  am  doing  day  by  day 
and  night  by  night,  with  honesty,  perseverance,  and  great  joy; 
and  when  I  get  the  work  done  it  will  be  real  work  and  will  stand. 
I  take  every  document  into  my  own  hands  and  read  it  through 
critically,  and  write  out  in  extenso  my  opinion  of  it;  and  when 
in  that  way  I  shall  have  gone  over  all  the  important  documents 
in  American  literature,  it  will  be  easy  for  me  to  go  back  over  my 
own  work,  and  either  elaborate  it  into  a  full  history  or  compact 
it  into  a  survey  —  or  both.  In  fact,  both  ought  to  be  done,  and 
the  latter  may  as  well  as  not  be  done  first.  Now  for  the  upshot: 

1.  If  on  this  presentation  of  the  case  you  would  rather  have 
me  work  up  for  you  the  more  extended  treatise  to  be  called  a 
History  —  leaving  the   Survey  for  after  consideration  —  that  I 
I  am  willing  to  do. 

2.  But  if  —  as    I    suppose  —  you    prefer    the    Survey    first 
and  anyhow  —  leaving  the  History   out  of  view  —  then  I  will 
keep  at    the     Survey]  and    will  labor   faithfully,   with    might 
and  main,  to  get  it  ready  for  you  just  so  soon  as  it  can  be  got 
ready  by  honest  work.     But  it  cannot  be  finished  within  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  99 

period  already  named;  and,  in  fact,  I  cannot  fix  upon  any  pre 
cise  date  by  which  it  shall  be  done.  The  element  of  time  is 
unspeakably  inferior  to  the  element  of  thoroughness.  It  vexes 
me  as  I  trudge  along,  to  think  of  a  day  by  which  I  am  bound 
to  reach  my  journey's  end.  All  that  I  can  say  now,  after  this 
my  first  experience  in  trying  to  write  a  book  on  a  stipulation 
involving  time,  is  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  bound  by 
that  stipulation. 

3.  If,  however,  you  are  going  to  be  seriously  inconvenienced 
by  this  fact,  then  I  offer  to  dissolve  our  agreement  altogether, 
and  return  to  you  in  cash  the  amount  of  the  books  which  you 
have  advanced  to  me  on  copyright  account.  I  am  myself 
captivated  by  my  task;  and  though  I  have  felt  reluctant  to 
ask  you  to  furnish  me  with  any  more  books  on  so  distant  a 
prospect,  I  am  compelled  to  buy  a  great  many  more.  In  fact, 
at  whatever  expense,  I  am  bringing  to  Ann  Arbor  quite  a  rare 
library  of  originals  in  American  literature. 

Think  the  matter  over;  try  to  understand  the  conditions 
of  my  task;  and  let  me  know  your  decision  in  your  own  good 
time. 

Faithfully  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 

[It  was  not  until  March  8,  1878,  that  this  book  was  com 
pleted  and  in  Mr.  Putnam's  hands.  The  Survey  alluded  to  was 
never  undertaken.] 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

8  Boylston  Place,  Boston,  August  10,  1^77 
DEAR  JACK: 

I  have  been  working  like  a  beaver  almost  every  day  since 
July  i.  During  the  first  twenty-one  days  of  July  I  pushed  my 
researches  hard  at  the  Historical  Society,  and  went  regularly 
through  that  immense  collection  of  old  treasures.  When, 
overcome  by  heat  and  fatigue,  and  having  got  in  New  York 
all  that  it  could  give  me,  I  went  to  the  seaside  for  a  week  and 
made  good  use  of  the  privilege  of  doing  nothing  but  eat,  sleep, 


ioo  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

swim,  and  sit  by  the  beach  gulping  down  that  delicious  ocean 
air.  I  rallied  like  a  wild  ass's  colt,  and  at  the  end  of  my  week, 
with  fresh  vigor,  started  for  this  place.  I  am  luxuriating  in  the 
incomparable  literary  treasures  of  the  Boston  libraries.  At 
this  time  I  am  engaged  in  the  Public  library,  the  largest  in 
America.  I  am  all  the  time  making  happy  discoveries  in  my 
department,  and  though  I  am  not  a  little  homesick,  I  shall  keep 
on  here  till  my  work  is  done.  Having  got  all  that  Harvard  and 
Boston  can  give  me,  I  shall  then  go  for  certain  rare  pickings 
to  some  ancient  libraries  at  Worcester  and  Providence,  then 
to  New  York,  and  possibly  Philadelphia.  By  that  time  I  shall 
have  the  History  of  Colonial  American  literature  in  my  port 
folio.  .  .  . 

Affectionately, 

MOSE. 

LETTER  FROM   MOSES   COIT  TYLER  TO    MR.  PUTNAM 

Ann  Arbor,  March  8,  1878 
MY  DEAR  MR.  PUTNAM: 

Yours  is  the  first  eye,  besides  mine,  that  has  rested  on  my  book 
as  now  written,  and  that  you  think  so  well  of  it  is  a  greater  satis 
faction  to  me  than  I  should  dare  to  express.  It  is  an  omen  to 
me  that  the  hope  and  the  faith  in  which  I  have  worked  for  many 
years  are  not  ill  founded. 

Now  to  my  business,  and  I  know  that  you  will  appreciate  it 
if  I  come  to  business  in  a  business  spirit.  I  have  examined  the 
contract  with  care  and  have  also  submitted  its  points  to  some 
of  my  colleagues  here  who  are  authors  of  long  experience,  one 
with  Appleton,  another  with  Harper,  another  with  Little,  Brown 
&  Company.  With  a  single  unimportant  particular  I  can  assent 
to  your  propositions  therein  as  I  understand  them.  That 
particular  is  the  matter  of  postage  on  the  proofs  to  pass  back 
and  forth  between  us.  Perhaps  that  part  of  your  printed  form 
was  to  have  been  struck  out;  but  it  seems  to  me  fair  that  I 
should  pay  the  postage  on  what  I  send  to  you,  and  you  pay 
it  on  what  you  send  to  me.  Not  one  of  my  associates  has 
ever  paid  more  than  his  half  of  such  expense. 

Another  point,  but  not  expressed  in  your  letter:    I  am  willing 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  waive  all  commission  on  the  first  thousand;  that  is,  I  put  in 
the  copy,  with  all  it  has  cost  me  in  marketable  time  and  in  large 
outlay  for  books  and  journeys,  etc.,  while  you  put  in  the  cost  of 
manufacturing  the  plates;  neither  party  has  any  profit;  and 
as  I  think,  and  as  perhaps  you  supply,  both  parties  are  joint 
and  equal  ones  in  those  plates  when  thus  paid  for.  Otherwise 
it  seems  to  me  that  calling  our  pecuniary  investment  equal  in 
that  transaction  (and  in  the  present  case,  however,  mine  is 
much  greater  than  yours)  our  returns  from  that  investment  are 
not  equal,  but  mine  is  less  than  yours.  I  frankly  express  this 
as  it  strikes  me  in  equity.  My  friend  Professor  Cocker,  who 
publishes  Greek  philosophy  and  Christianity  and  Theistic  con 
ception  of  the  universe  through  the  Harpers,  has  this  ar 
rangement  with  them  and  by  their  own  proposal.  Perhaps 
this  is  already  your  understanding  of  the  case.  If  so,  I  think 
it  should  be  expressed  in  the  contract.  But  if  it  be  not  your 
understanding  of  it,  please  to  consider  whether  mine  be  not  an 
exceptional  instance  of  authorship,  in  this  —  i.  e.,  that  the  propo 
sition  of  an  original  historical  work  like  mine  involves  a  pecuniary 
outlay  in  the  purchase  of  books  and  in  journeys  for  the  consul 
tation  of  materials  (saying  nothing  of  time,  which  with  me  is 
of  pecuniary  value  also)  corresponding  to  your  pecuniary  outlay 
in  the  making  of  the  plates.  I  do  not  think  that  the  plates  will 
cost  you  in  cash  really  more  than  they  will  cost  me;  and  that 
when  the  sale  of  the  first  thousand  pays  for  them  I  ought  to  own 
at  least  as  much  of  them  as  you  will  own.  I  hope  I  do  not  ex 
press  this  too  bluntly.  If  this  meets  your  acceptance,  I  shall 
not  hesitate  to  sign  the  contract  amended.  In  haste, 

Sincerely  yours, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 

Ann  Arbor,  17  August,  1878.  Opened  a  parcel  from  Put 
nam's  having  within  it  the  prospectus  volume  of,  A  history  of 
American  literature,  making  the  book  seem  at  last  a  reality. 
Shows  heading,  style  of  page,  paper,  type,  etc.  It  giveth  me 
huge  satisfaction.  I  make  a  fool  of  myself  over  it  for  twenty- 
four  or  forty-eight  hours. 


-  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  19  September,  1878.  For  more  than  a  month  I 
have  been  hard  at  work  writing  or  revising  the  last  eight  chap 
ters.  Yesterday  I  sent  off  Chapter  XV.  This  leaves  me  only 
three  more  to  do. 

Ann  Arbor,  2  October,  1878.  There  has  just  come  a  telegram 
from  the  Putnams  announcing  that  they  will  adopt  a  sug 
gestion  lately  made  by  me  for  the  publication  of  the  book  on  the 
colonial  time  in  two  volumes  instead  of  one.  This  saves  us  from 
the  embarrassment  of  having  a  bulky  single  volume  or  one  on 
very  thin  paper.  The  book  will  look  very  handsome  in  this 
two-volume  form.  I  am  very  much  elated. 

Ann  Arbor,  16  October,  1878.  3  p.  M.  I  have  this  moment 
written  the  last  word  in  the  revised  copy  of  the  last  chapter 
of  the  second  volume  of  my  book  and  shall  now  fold  it  and  post 
it  to  New  York.  It  has  taken  me  twice  as  long  as  I  expected, 
and  has  been  very  hard  work.  I  thank  God  for  his  good  help 
to  me  in  all  this  long,  long  labor.  For  two  or  three  weeks  I 
shall  be  busy  with  proof  sheets,  indexing,  etc.,  but  the  toil  of 
creation  is  over.  Since  my  return  from  New  York  in  August 
my  brain  has  been  more  severely  worked  than  ever  before  in 
my  life.  But  I  am  marvellously  fresh  and  well. 

Ann  Arbor,  $  November,  1878.  Tuesday,  being  Guy  Fawkes' 
day.  This  morning  I  sent  to  the  Putnams  a  telegram  announc 
ing  that  my  last  corrections  of  plate  proofs  started  toward 
them  yesterday.  Thus  I  have  done  my  last  act  for  the  book 
that  is  about  to  be  born.  I  had  word  from  Haven  Putnam 
yesterday  that  it  would  appear  on  Saturday  of  this  week.  May 
it  be  so!  I  am  diverting  my  impatience  by  helping  Putnam  in 
the  wise  distribution  of  copies  to  newspapers.  I  have  a  vast 
mass  of  writing  to  do  in  promotion  of  this  object. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  103 

Ann  Arbor,  i  March,  1879.  I  have  this  moment  finished 
my  first  revision  of  Morley's  First  sketch  of  English  literature, 
a  work  in  which  I  have  been  incessantly  engaged  since  January  10. 
It  is  to  be  published  this  spring  as  a  manual  for  advanced  stu 
dents.  I  have  cut  it  all  up,  rearranged  the  materials,  recomposed 
the  book,  and  struck  out  and  put  in  wherever  necessary.  I 
have  now  to  revise  carefully  my  own  work,  and  to  put  in  a  good 
deal  of  new  matter  for  the  nineteenth  century.  I  shall  not  send 
the  material  to  Sheldon  until  I  hear  from  Morley,  which  I  ex 
pect  to  do  in  about  three  weeks  from  now.  I  am  going  to  knock 
off  and  read  Bleak  house  for  fun. 

LETTER   FROM   HENRY   MORLEY   TO    MOSES    COIT   TYLER 

London,  8  Upper  Park  Road,  March  26,  1879 
MY  DEAR  SIR: 

I  thank  you  very  heartily  for  the  courtesy  of  your  note  on 
the  subject  of  a  proposed  American  edition  of  my  First  sketches 
of  English  literature.  I  had  heard  high  fame  of  your  volumes 
on  American  literature  and  hope  in  a  day  or  two  to  have  them 
in  my  library.  If  the  text-book  is  to  be  dealt  with  as  you  say, 
I  should  prefer  that  it  should  be  recast  by  a  competent  fellow- 
worker  like  yourself  and  I  will  not  fetter  your  discretion  with  any 
suggestions  whatever  upon  the  subject.  My  interest  in  the 
book  is  represented  by  a  royalty  and  I  have  no  reason  to  be  dis 
contented  with  its  publishers.  If  it  suited  the  publishers  of  the 
American  edition  to  admit  them  to  partnership  in  this  venture, 
they  say  they  would  be  glad  to  arrange  terms  and  so  console 
themselves  for  the  loss  of  their  American  sale,  which  they  have 
been  at  some  trouble  to  cultivate. 

And  for  me,  I  must  be  content  with  the  sale  in  England 
and  what  demand  remains  in  America  for  the  original  book 
after  your  adapted  edition  —  to  which  I  wish  every  success 
—  may  have  created  some  occasional  inquiry  for  it,  as  possibly 
it  will. 

Any  thought  of  the  very  slight  advantage  I  have  had  from 
the  sale  of  this  book  in  America  vanishes  before  the  good  hope 


io4  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

of  aiding  —  through  your  help  —  to  a  much  wider  diffusion  of 
the  love  of  literature  on  your  side  of  the  water  than  could  have 
been  possible  to  me  alone.  If  your  publishers  make  in  the  way 
of  fee  to  me  any  acknowledgment  of  their  use  of  my  book,  I 
shall  think  them,  as  the  world  goes,  generous,  and  if  they  don't, 
I  shall  not  revile  them.  To  yourself  I  can  only  say  that  I  re 
spond  with  the  most  unreserved  good  will  to  a  suggestion  made 
in  the  best  spirit  of  the  fellowship  of  letters. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Always  faithfully  yours, 

HENRY  MORLEY. 

Ann  Arbor,  4  July,  1879.  Ever  since  the  previous  record, 
with  a  very  slight  interruption,  I  have  been  hard  at  work  on 
Morley.  During  April,  May,  and  June  was  reading  proof,  which 
proved  unexpectedly  laborious,  owing  to  the  necessity  of  trying 
to  verify  everything  in  the  book.  It  was  full  of  inaccuracies, 
great  and  small,  and  I  have  many  times  regretted  my  connection 
with  it.  I  am  very  tired  and  am  luxuriating  in  peace  and  quiet 
—  reading  things  I  want  to.  My  first  rush  is  for  Macaulay. 
Have  begun  rereading  his  entire  works  in  chronological  order. 
I  find  enjoyment  of  that  wonderful  essay  on  Milton  greater  than 
I  expected  it  would  be  now. 

Ann  Arbor,  2  August,  1879.  I  am  forty-four  to-day.  Upon 
the  whole,  though  I  have  made  some  mistakes,  I  am  not  dissatis 
fied  with  the  outcome  of  the  past  ten  years.  My  life  to-day  is 
peaceful,  healthy,  busy,  and  independent.  I  have  beloved  ones 
near  me,  a  delightful  home,  and  every  prospect  of  further  use 
fulness  in  my  vocation  as  a  writer.  Shall  I  be  here  ten  years 
from  now?  Many  changes  will  occur  by  that  time,  I  ween.  I 
don't  feel  older,  though  I  am  conscious  of  wider  and  deeper 
experiences  than  ten  years  ago.  My  heart  is  as  young  and  in 
a  less  demonstrative  way,  just  as  merry. 

Ann  Arbor,  7  August,  1879.    Memorable  day  in  my  quiet 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  105 

life.  Began  work  with  reference  to  next  volumes  of  American 
literature.  Taking  Drake's  American  biographical  dictionary 
and  starting  with  letter  A,  I  am  going  through  the  book  for 
names  that  belong  between  1765  and  1815.  Each  name  I  will 
write  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  by  itself  with  appropriate  memoranda. 

Ann  Arbor,  18  August,  1879.  I  copy  for  my  own  spiritual 
nourishment  this  sentence  of  Trevelyan's,  in  his  Life  and  letters  of 
Lord  Macaulay,  Vol.  II,  p.  244 :  "  To  sacrifice  the  accessory  to  the 
principal,  to  plan  an  extensive  and  arduous  task,  and  to  pursue 
it  without  remission  and  without  misgiving,  to  withstand  reso 
lutely  all  counter-attractions  whether  they  come  in  the  shape 
of  distracting  pleasures  or  competing  duties  —  such  are  the  in 
dispensable  conditions  for  attaining  to  that  high  sustained  ex 
cellence  of  artistic  performance  which  in  the  beautiful  words  of 
George  Eliot,  'Must  be  wooed  with  industrious  thought  and 
patient  renunciation  of  small  desires.' ' 

Ann  Arbor,  19  August,  1879.  Last  week's  Nation  contained 
a  spiteful  review  of  my  Morley  book.  It  is,  however,  too 
shallow  and  weak  to  do  much  harm,  except  as  any  utterance 
in  that  journal  has  some  force.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
it  is  inspired  by  Cassell  and  Co.,  who  are  angry  at  me,  of  course. 

Ann  Arbor,  21  August,  1879.  Finished  Part  I  of  Taylor's 
Faust.  It  falls  below  my  expectations  as  the  alleged  greatest 
poem  of  modern  times.  I  think  it  far  below  Lear,  Hamlet,  Othello, 
Macbeth,  and  Paradise  lost. 

Ann  Arbor,  29  August,  1879.  Read  Matthew  Arnold's 
Culture  and  anarchy  —  finishing  the  book.  From  it  I  get  much 
help,  intellectual  and  spiritual.  It  is  very  suggestive  and  ser- 
monal;  above  all,  it  is  fair,  in  the  main,  as  an  intellectual  method, 


io6  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

and  so  guides.  I  must  not  get  beyond  the  reach  of  Matthew 
Arnold's  cool  Socratic  influence  even  by  and  by  when  I  plunge 
into  my  next  volume. 

Ann  Arbor,  7  September,  1879.  Before  church  read  in  Genesis. 
Holy  Communion.  My  spiritual  struggle  at  present  is  to  keep 
a  vivid  faith  in  a  real  and  considerate  personal  God,  in  whose 
all- wise  and  all-loving  mind  my  life  has  been  minutely  planned, 
so  minutely  that  even  all  my  mistakes  are  taken  into  account 
and  have  been  permitted  as  a  part  of  the  manifold  process  of 
discipline  and  victory  in  my  life.  Only  in  this  way  can  I  keep 
from  repenting  the  past,  and  tearing  my  heart  upon  the  prongs 
of  the  present,  and  in  this  way  I  am  very  tranquil  and  joyous, 
trusting  all  to  the  wise  and  good  Father. 

Ann  Arbor,  12  September,  1879.  I  have  been  alarmed  at  my 
loss  of  facility  in  reading  French  and  am  trying  to  recover  it.  I 
am  reading  through  Otto's  Grammar  and  have  begun  to  try  my 
hand  on  Sismondi's  Literature  du  midi  de  V Europe. 

Ann  Arbor,  13  October,  1879.  It  is  almost  a  year  since  I  left 
off  work  on  American  literature.  Since  then  I  have  given  six 
months  to  the  dreary  labor  of  revising  and  publishing  my  Morley 
book,  and  during  the  past  three  and  a  half  months  I  have  given 
myself  up  to  intellectual  recreation.  I  think  it  is  now  time  to 
settle  down  to  steady  work  on  my  next  volume.  My  plan  for 
the  present  is  to  give  the  time  between  breakfast  and  9  A.  M. 
to  French,  from  9  to  i  to  American  literature.  This  latter  will 
include  not  only  book's  on  American  literature,  but  books  relating 
directly  to  my  handling  of  American  literature — e.  g.,  English 
literature  from  Pope  to  Carlyle  inclusive;  French  literature 
for  same  space;  together  with  general  European  and  American 
history  for  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries. 


CHAPTER  IX 

1880—1881 

Ann  Arbor,  i  January,  1880.  I  have  risen  fresh  and  vigorous 
for  work.  The  day  is  of  great  splendor;  just  cool  enough;  the 
air  vibrant  with  inspiration.  I  look  over  the  past  year  with  sat 
isfaction  and  gratitude.  It  has  been  a  good  year  for  steady  work. 
I  now  regret  the  six  months  I  gave  to  the  Morley  book,  which 
has  delayed  me  just  so  much  time  in  my  labors  on  American 
literature,  and  is  not  likely  to  give  me  what  Sheldon  promised 
—  a  considerable  annual  income. 

Ann  Arbor,  February  26,  1880.  From  8:30  to  9  read  Shake 
speare  per  whim,  also  Hildreth,  end  of  Vol.  II.  This  is  a  de 
pressing  book,  and  gives  me  a  despair  of  ever  making  the  entire 
field  of  American  history  attractive,  yet  I  think  the  fault  is  in 
the  historian  who  has  capacity  to  make  any  history  dull. 

Ann  Arbor,  9  March,  1880.  I  have  this  morning  my  first 
glimpse  of  a  plan  for  organizing  my  last  volume,  1765  -  1815. 
First,  grasp  the  idea  that  it  is  a  period  in  which  political  and 
military  struggles  are  the  great  trait;  that  these  struggles  con 
verge  on  the  effort  for  complete  detachment  of  America  from 
Europe;  and  that  the  literature  of  the  time  is  chiefly  an  expres 
sion  of  these  energies.  Then  trace  this  in  the  several  great  lines 
of  literary  utterance;  ballads  and  other  poetry;  pamphlets; 
Doctor  Franklin;  the  great  political  writers;  diarists;  letter 
writers,  and  historians;  theological  and  religious;  pure  men 
of  letters. 

107 


io8  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  n  March,  1880.  At  five  went  to  the  Zeta  Psi 
house  and  dined  with  Remenyi,  who  gave  a  concert  for  the  bene 
fit  of  the  gymnasium.  He  is  a  buffoon  and  a  rattle  head;  and 
when  afterward  I  saw  his  inspired  and  noble  look  on  the  stage, 
I  regretted  that  I  had  seen  him  off  it. 

Ann  Arbor,  27  March,  1880.  From  8:25  to  10,  Godwin,  Vol. 
I.  This  covers  the  last  days  of  Mary  Wollstonecraft,  with  whom 
I  am  deeply  in  love.  She  is  another  argument  for  the  immor 
tality  of  the  soul.  I  cannot  think  that  so  exquisite  and  heroic 
a  creature  could  be  allowed  to  pass  into  nothingness;  and  I  send 
her  word  —  if  any  obliging  spirit  now  looks  over  my  shoulder 
and  will  carry  it  —  of  my  desire  to  make  her  acquaintance  when 
I  get  to  paradise. 

Ann  Arbor,  29  March,  1880.  Annual  parish  meeting  this 
morning.  I  was  chairman.  Elected  vestryman  for  second  time. 
In  evening  Republican  caucus  of  the  Fourth  ward.  Was  made 
delegate  to  the  city  convention. 

Ann  Arbor,  i  April,  1880.  In  evening  attended  City  Repub 
lican  convention,  over  which  I  presided.  Benjamin  Brown  was 

nominated  for  Mayor  against  Dr. ,  after  a  hard  and  rather 

bitter  struggle.    The  latter's  asinine  administration  is  too  much. 

Ann  Arbor,  14  April,  1880.  To-day  to  gardening  and  politics. 
At  twelve  the  county  convention  met  at  court-house  for  nomi 
nating  delegates  to  the  state  convention  at  Detroit  for  May  12. 
I  was  made  temporary  chairman  and  then  permanent  chair 
man.  I  made  a  little  speech  and  a  bigger  one  near  the  close  of 
the  meeting.  I  was  also  made  a  delegate  to  the  state  convention. 
The  convention  was  large,  harmonious,  and  resolute.  Altogether 
it  was  a  very  pleasurable  excitement  to  me  —  a  real  diversion, 
and  instructive  too.  But  I  am  tired. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  109 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor y  April  19,  1880 
DEAR  BROTHER: 

I  was  the  "one  delegate"  referred  to  by  the  Post  and  Tri 
bune  reporter  of  the  convention  as  not  declaring  himself  for 
Elaine.  Even  Beal,  who  is  strong  for  Grant,  gave  the  convention 
to  understand  that  he  is  a  Elaine  man.  For  myself,  every 
thing  here  is  so  strong  for  Elaine  that  there  is  nothing  to 
be  done  except  to  restrain  the  movement  from  excesses  of  state 
ment  that  will  be  regretted  after  the  nomination  takes  place. 
I  should  willingly  work  for  Elaine  if  he  is  nominated,  but  I 
prefer  Grant. 

My  speech  before  the  convention  was  absolutely  impromptu, 
but  I  never  spoke  with  better  effect  in  my  life;  and  at  the  end 
the  foremost  men  came  forward  to  thank  me;  and  I  have  heard 
a  great  deal  from  it  since.  I  cannot  spare  much  time;  but  I 
intend  to  do  some  talking  in  this  district  between  now  and  next 
November.  If  I  had  a  snug  private  income  to  live  on  I  would 
devote  the  rest  of  my  life  to  literature  and  politics — i.  e.,  to  writing 
American  history  and  to  making  it.  The  way  into  the  public 
eye  from  this  locality  is  quite  open  to  a  fellow  but  the  money 
bother  is  in  my  way  and  I  shall  continue  pedagogue.  Only  it 
is  fun  to  dip  into  real  life  once  in  four  years. 

Affectionately, 

MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  April  29,  1880 
DEAR  BROTHER: 

I  see  that  some  of  the  papers  are  nominating  me  for 
delegate  at  large  to  the  Chicago  convention.  Of  course  this  is 
without  any  suggestion  from  me;  and  I  presume  it  will  not  amount 
to  anything,  since  there  must  be  a  crowd  of  active  politicians 
who  want  to  go  and  will  work  for  it.  Still  if  I  should  be  appointed 
I  should  be  very  happy  to  go  and  see  a  phase  of  life  quite  new 
to  me. 


no  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

My  object  in  this  writing,  however,  is  to  ask  you  to  do  some 
real  thinking  forme  and  tell  me  the  result.  Since  the  county 
convention  here  I  have  been  repeatedly  urged  by  some  of  our 
ablest  men  to  go  vigorously  upon  the  stump  during  the  next 
campaign.  All  the  reasons  urged  for  this  by  one  and  another 
I  will  tell  you  when  I  see  you.  One  is  that  it  would  add  to  my 
reputation  a  practical  and  personal  element,  etc.,  etc. 

Another,  and  a  more  flattering  one,  is  that  I  could  do  real 
service.  On  my  own  part,  I  confess  to  a  very  great  anxiety  about 
having  the  Republican  party  remain  in  control,  and  it  would 
inspire  me  immensely  to  have  the  privilege  of  devoting  the  whole 
summer  and  on  into  November  to  work  for  the  cause.  If  I 
went  into  it,  I  should  prepare  myself  thoroughly  and  should 
make  as  effective  speeches  as  I  could. 

But  is  it  best,  as  a  question  of  my  general  reputation  and 
standing,  as  a  literary  man,  etc.?  Second,  can  I  afford  it? 
I  had  planned  to  work  for  my  next  volume  all  summer.  I 
should  have  to  push  these  researches  over  to  the  following  year. 
This  would  be  a  loss  to  me  pecuniarily.  Moreover,  I  couldn't 
afford  to  do  this  speaking  without  pay,  and  pretty  good  pay. 
Can  you  tell  me  how  much  speakers  are  paid?  If  I  went  into  it, 
I  should  wish  to  be  paid  all  expenses  and  to  indemnify  myself 
for  the  pecuniary  loss  involved  in  neglecting  my  book.  Could 
I  do  it?  This  is  a  crude  outline  of  the  case.  What  shall  I  do? 
Advise  me,  not  as  a  politician,  but  as  a  brother. 

Affectionately, 

MOSE. 


Ann  Arbor,  14  May,  1880.  I  returned  night  before  last  from 
Detroit,  where  I  attended  the  Republican  state  convention. 
I  have  learned  a  good  deal  concerning  men  and  things  in  prac 
tical  politics,  and  my  present  feeling  is  one  of  disgust.  I  don't 
mean  to  surrender  to  this  feeling,  but  to  use  this  recent  ex 
perience  for  future  guidance.  I  have  made  one  mistake  lately, 
but  it  will  do  me  good,  even  in  the  suffering  I  shall  endure 
under  it. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  in 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Cambridge,  August  i,  1880 
DEAR  BROTHER  JACK: 

The  above  is  my  post-office  address  here,  although  I  am 
not  actually  writing  there  now,  this  being  Sunday.  I  am  at 
my  lodgings,  14  Appian  Way,  near  the  college.  Never  in  all 
my  literary  expeditions  have  I  been  so  well  situated  as  I  am  here. 
All  the  literary  conveniences  are  perfect.  I  have  a  cool,  bright 
room  at  the  library  all  to  myself,  an  attendant  to  wait  on  me,  and 
all  the  officers  coming  to  ask  every  day  if  they  can  do  anything 
for  me.  This  old  town,  too,  is  a  fascinating  and  beautiful  old 
place,  and  my  quarters  are  full  of  rest  to  me.  I  reached  here 
only  last  Thursday  and  am  working  like  a  beaver  from  9  A.  M. 
to  5  P.  M.  and  find  it  less  fatiguing  than  in  New  York. 

I  am  glad  to  see  by  the  Express  that  you  have  broken  the  ice 
as  a  speaker,  and  have  done  it  successfully.  I  am  not  surprised 
that  you  succeed.  Your  head  is  full  of  ideas  in  conversation, 
and  it  is  only  necessary  for  you  to  form  the  habit  of  thinking  aloud 
in  the  presence  of  an  audience.  I  was  talking  this  week  with 
R.  E.  Fraser,  one  of  our  best  political  speakers.  He  says  that  in 
speaking  he  tries  to  forget  all  about  oratory  and  to  talk  just  as 
he  would  to  his  neighbor  on  the  other  side  of  a  fence. 

Affectionately, 

MOSE. 

Cambridge,  14  Appian  Way,  2  August,  1880.  I  am  just  start 
ing  for  the  library,  but  pause  to  record  the  little  fact  that  I  am 
forty-five  years  old  this  day.  By  George!  Moses,  this  is  getting 
on.  Am  deeply  interested  and  charmed  in  my  surroundings 
here.  A  thousand  regrets  that  I  did  not  know  enough  to  come 
here  in  1853 !  Still,  whatever  is,  is  right!  Let  me  try  to  stick  to 
that. 

Boston,  5  September,  1880.  Yesterday  morning  heard  Phillips 
Brooks  give  an  off-hand  address.  It  was  impressive  and  hearty, 
but  lacked  smoothness  of  utterance,  and  distinctness  or  force 


ii2  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

of  thought.  Doubtless  his  written  sermons  are  to  be  heard  be 
fore  judging  him.  Thus  far  I  am  somewhat  disappointed  in  his 
intellectuality.  I  can  easily  account  for  his  popularity,  however. 
After  church  I  was  presented  to  him.  He  said  to  me,  "How 
do  you  like  our  meeting-house?"  He  abounds  in  tokens  of  broad 
churchmanship;  invited  members  of  all  other  denominations  to 
the  communion. 

LETTER   FROM  ANDREW  D.  WHITE  TO   MOSES   COIT  TYLER 

Berlin,  September  14, 1880 
MY  DEAR  MOSES  COIT  TYLER: 

I  write  you  confidentially  on  a  matter  very  important  to 
you,  to  me,  and  to  the  institutions  with  which  we  are  connected. 
As  you  are  aware,  I  have  tendered  my  resignation  to  the  trus 
tees  of  Cornell  University,  and  even  if  they  do  not  accept  it  before 
my  return  they  will  probably  do  so  at  no  very  distant  day  after 
ward.  My  whole  wish  for  some  time  in  the  past  has  been  to 
see  the  university  brought  into  such  a  condition  that  might  put 
it  into  the  hands  of  the  right  sort  of  a  successor.  I  think  there's 
but  one  man  who  is  likely  to  stand  as  well  with  the  trustees  for 
the  succession  as  yourself.  With  me  there's  no  one  at  present 
whom  I  should  so  much  like  to  see  put  in  my  place.  -  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  have  the  very  powers  required  with  the  possible 
exception  of  familiarity  with  administrative  details,  which 
would  come  later. 

Now  may  I  ask  you  confidentially,  and  your  answer  shall  be 
kept  strictly  private,  how  the  matter  strikes  you?  The  salary 
would  certainly  be  made  attractive  to  you.  The  work  also 
would  be,  I  think,  what  you  like,  and  there  are  some  advantages 
in  the  position.  Your  appointment  if  made  would  be  well 
received  by  the  community  at  large.  .  .  . 

You  may  say  that  you  prefer  the  duties  of  your  professorship. 
That  is  well;  but  you  have  already  made  a  mark  in  your  pro 
fessorship  and  can  go  on  to  greater  triumphs,  even  with  some 
administrative  duties  added,  and  it  is  very  evident  to  me  that 
you  will  have  to  prepare  for  administrative  work  somewhere. 
Think  it  over  and  write  me  fully  and  cordially.  Your  letter  shall 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  113 

be  shown  to  no  person,  nor  shall  the  existence  of  this  corre 
spondence  be  known  unless  your  own  interest  shall  seem  to 
require  it.  I  remain, 

Yours  faithfully, 

ANDREW  D.  WHITE. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  September  21,  1880 
DEAR  JACK: 

I  send  you  this  enclosed  letter  from  President  White.  I 
have  told  him  in  my  reply  that  no  human  being  should  know  of 
it  except  Jeannette  and  you,  and  that  upon  the  reticence  of  you 
both  I  can  depend.  You  must  not  give  a  hint  of  it  to  any  mortal 
creature.  It  would  be  very  annoying  to  White  and  very 
humiliating  to  me  if,  through  our  means,  the  thing  should  be 
made  public. 

Return  the  letter  soon  and  tell  me  how  it  strikes  you.  I 
have  just  written  to  White  discussing  the  subject  on  both  sides. 
My  great  objection  is  that  the  position  would  hinder  too  much 
my  work  as  a  student  and  writer  of  American  history.  You 
can't  understand  my  point  of  view  unless  you  remember 
that  my  chief  ambition  in  life  is  to  be  —  what  I  have  just 
mentioned. 

No  one  can  do  anything  great  without  also  giving  up  some 
thing  great.  I  have  not  decided  of  course.  I  am  open  to  con 
viction.  Advise  me  like  a  man  and  a  brother.  Of  course  I 
realize  it  is  a  big  thing  and  altogether  the  tallest  compliment  I 
ever  got.  MOSES. 

Ann  Arbor,  21  September,  1880.  White's  letter  kept  me 
awake  almost  all  night.  The  plan  is  fascinating;  yet  my  good 
angel  whispers  to  me  to  wait,  deliberate,  move  slowly.  I  have 
eased  myself  by  writing  a  long  letter  to  White,  talking  the  thing 
over  with  him.  The  great  question  is,  Can  I  still  be  a  student 
and  a  writer  if  I  take  such  a  position?  Will  not  my  time  and 
strength  be  consumed  by  executive  business,  by  calls,  by  cere 
mony,  by  public  exigencies? 


ii4  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ann  Arbor,  24  September,  1880.  My  mood  this  morning  is 
rather  less  favorable  to  any  break-up  of  my  present  life.  Here 
I  have  things  fixed  very  much  to  my  liking.  It  seems  ungrate 
ful  to  turn  away  from  a  life  so  pleasant  and  so  fitting.  During 
the  night  I  have  prayed  earnestly  for  Divine  guidance.  After  all, 
I  must  leave  it  to  be  settled  by  providential  indications.  I 
put  myself  into  God's  hands.  I  beg  Him  to  give  me  His  light. 
A  letter  from  John  to-night  in  reply  to  mine  about  the  Cornell 
business.  He  speaks  cautiously  about  it,  although  he  evidently 
wants  me  to  go. 

Ann  Arbor,  5  November,  1880.  I  had  the  omens  of  a  very 
wakeful  night;  and  such  it  proved.  Did  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep 
until  nearly  three.  I  couldn't  stop  thinking  and  I  feel  so  weary 
to-day.  It  is  this  peculiarity  of  mine  that  makes  me  feel  that 
it  would  be  suicide  for  me  to  undertake  the  cares  of  the  Cornell 
presidency.  I  could  do  it,  if  I  tried  to  do  it  and  nothing  else, 
but  I  feel  that  the  attempt  would  be  the  death  of  my  literary 
hopes.  Every  day  only  adds  to  the  conviction  that  I  must  stay 
here;  live  and  die  here;  make  this  my  home  and  my  grave. 

Ann  Arbor,  31  December,  1880.  The  year  closes  more  sadly 
than  it  began.  Somehow  I  feel  rather  burdened  and  anxious, 
and  a  gloom  hangs  across  the  future.  Let  me  try  to  leave  all 
things  in  God's  hands.  All  this  morning  I  was  at  work  in  the 
study,  partly  in  revision  of  a  sermon  on  Manliness  to  be  given  in 
a  few  weeks  in  University  Hall,  and  partly  on  Jonathan  Odell. 

On  the  verge  of  the  New  Year,  let  me  feel  trust  in  Him  who 
knows  the  end  from  the  beginning.  What  joys  and  sorrows  I 
may  have  to  record  on  these  pages  before  the  year  shall  end! 
I  will  try  to  be  cheerful,  diligent,  orderly,  and  faithful. 

I  hope  by  the  end  of  1881  my  third  volume  will  be  far  ad 
vanced  toward  completion. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  115 

My  heart  is  drawn  toward  an  occasional  service  as  a  preacher. 
I  have  talked  with  the  bishop  about  taking  orders,  at  least 
deacon's  orders. 

Ann  Arbor,  26  January,  1881.  I  began  to  revise  an  old  sermon 
on  Manliness]  the  thing  took  hold  of  me  and  I  had  to  write 
a  new  one  on  that  subject.  I  was  greatly  inspired  by  the  theme, 
and  the  preaching  of  the  discourse  on  Sunday  had,  I  think,  a 
wholesome  effect  on  some  hundreds  of  young  men. 

But  the  reaction  for  me  was  very  great.  After  such  an  effort 
I  am  usually  exalted  in  spirits  or  depressed.  In  this  instance 
I  was  depressed  horribly.  I  lay  awake  nearly  all  night  in  ex 
treme  bitterness  of  soul;  I  could  have  welcomed  death. 

Ann  Arbor,  8  February,  1881.  A  big  snow-storm  rageth. 
This  is  a  gay  old  winter.  She  will  go  into  history.  I  had  bad 
news  from  Sheldon  and  Co.  They  are  not  going  to  pay  me 
decently  for  my  Manual. 

Boston,  16  March,  1881.  I  saw  yesterday  at  Houghton's, 
T.  B.  Aldrich  in  his  new  office  as  editor  of  the  Atlantic.  His 
office  looks  out  on  the  Park  churchyard,  full  of  gravestones. 

Busy  all  day  in  revising  my  Lowell  lecture  for  to-night.  Gave 
it.  Better  audience  than  I  expected.  Was  scared  at  first. 
My  voice  disobedient  and  unnatural. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

2  Mt.  Vernon  place,  Boston,  March  24,  1881 
DEAR  BROTHER: 

First  of  all,  my  joy  over  your  glorious  success.  It  is 
good,  better,  best! 

Second,  I  am  awfully  pressed  by  work  and  by  social  distrac 
tions,  and  am  nearly  ready  to  drop  with  fatigue.  I  am  seeing 
all  the  big  fellows  —  Longfellow,  Winthrop,  Phillips  Brooks, 
Howells,  Aldrich,  Louisa  Alcott,  E.  P.  Whipple,  etc. 


n6  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

My  lectures  are  a  real  success.  I  give  the  last  on  April  i; 
on  April  2  lecture  in  Providence,  on  April  5  in  New  York,  and 
immediately  afterward  start  for  home.  .  .  . 

Affectionately, 

M. 

Boston,  24  March  1881.  Mr.  Oilman  gave  me  a  reception 
to-night  at  his  house  in  Cambridge.  Saw  the  leading  gentlemen 
of  the  faculty,  etc.  Remained  all  night  at  Mr.  Oilman's.  Had 
some  confidential  talk  with  Justin  Winsor,  who  expressed  deep 
interest  in  my  coming  to  Cambridge  as  professor  of  American 
history. 

Ann  Arbor,  29  April,  1881.  I  had  some  wakeful  hours  in 
bed  last  night  and  there  came  to  me  a  ray  of  light  respecting 
my  third  volume.  It  is  that  its  period,  for  the  sake  of  unity, 
should  be  ended  at  1789  instead  of  1815,  as  I  have  hitherto  pur 
posed.  I  begin  to  find  that  the  great  intellectual  movement, 
begun  in  1765,  reaches  its  completion  with  the  inauguration 
of  the  National  Government  under  the  new  Constitution.  If 
this  proves  to  be  so,  it  will  quicken  my  attainment  of  my  present 
literary  object. 

Ann  Arbor,  5  May,  1881.  My  mind  is  deeply  drawn  toward 
preaching.  There  comes  over  me  a  feeling  of  bitter  sorrow  that 
I  had  not  strength  enough  of  body  and  of  character,  in  1862, 
to  persist  in  that  noblest  of  human  vocations.  Even  history 
writing  seems  small  business  compared  with  ministrations  to 
human  souls.  Ah!  these  nineteen  years  of  secular  life:  the 
bewilderment  of  them,  the  small  result,  the  sin,  the  frivolity! 

Yet  perhaps  I  shall  see  the  meaning  of  it  all.  Meantime 
I  am  surrounded  by  new  duties  —  domestic,  literary,  professional. 
As  I  ran  away  from  the  old  duties,  let  me  at  least  be  faithful  in 
patient  performance  of  the  new  ones. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  117 

Ann  Arbor,  8  May,  1881.  This  morning  read  the  service  at 
church,  also  a  sermon  by  Phillips  Brooks  on  God  the  consoler. 
The  air  is  very  sultry,  and  ever  since  I  am  utterly  prostrated 
with  fatigue;  unspeakably  shivered,  flattened.  One  result  this 
surely  has  for  me;  it  convinces  me  over  again  that  I  have  not 
the  physique  for  a  preacher,  of  a  public  speaker  of  any  kind. 
It  is  really  a  balm  to  my  conscience,  and  it  steadies  me  once 
more  in  the  faith  that  I  am  right  in  my  present  life,  a  teacher 
and  a  man  of  letters,  a  preacher  only  upon  occasion. 

Ann  Arbor,  n  May,  1881.  Being  too,  too  weary  for  any 
work,  I  have  spent  all  the  morning  in  reading  Carlyle's  Reminis 
cences,  about  which  there  is  such  a  pother  just  now  in  England. 
A  very  pathetic  and  tragical  book.  While  it  prints  a  gratui 
tous  mass  of  asperities,  and  of  small  rasping  gossip,  it  is  an  honest 
book,  and  reveals  Carlyle  as  the  great,  bitter,  brave,  savage 
Scotch  bear  of  genius  that  he  was.  My  Sunday  fatigue  has  been 
such  a  blessing  to  me!  It  makes  me  contented  to  be  as  I  am 
—  without  self-chiding.  I  cannot  lead  in  the  tumultuous, 
oratorical,  public  life  of  a  preacher,  without  breaking  down. 
I  can  do  most  as  I  am. 

Ann  Arbor,  14  May,  1881.  Am  somewhat  upset  by  this  Cor 
nell  project,  and  have  had  hard  work  in  settling  down  to  my 
daily  task.  Had  a  walk  with  Frieze.  He  is  anxious  to  induce 
me  not  to  go.  Thinks  sufficient  money  can  be  raised  here  to  buy 
a  library  of  Americana.  But  it  is  too  late,  probably.  Had 
some  wakeful  hours  last  night.  I  earnestly  prayed  God  to  give 
me  light  upon  this  grave  problem,  and  my  mind  became  irradi 
ated,  and  for  the  first  time  I  seemed  to  see  my  way  to  Cornell 
made  luminous. 

In  the  evening,  down  town,  heard  of  the  resignation  in  a  rage 
of  Senator  Conkling  and  his  asociate,  T.  C.  Platt.  A  silly  busi 
ness  it  seems  to  me. 


n8  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LETTER  FROM  ANDREW  D.  WHITE  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

American  Legation,  Berlin,  March  7,  1881 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

Suppose  that  our  trustees  establish  a  professorship  of 
American  history  and  literature  at  the  coming  commencement 
—  would  you  be  inclined  to  accept  it?  Your  answer  shall  be 
seen  by  me  alone.  There  is  much  reason  to  hope  that  our  in 
creased  means  will  enable  us  to  do  this  very  soon.  Give  me  your 
views  fully  on  the  whole  subject. 

The  situation  would  be  in  many  respects  attractive.  The 
collection  of  American  books  in  the  university  library,  includ 
ing  as  it  does  Sparks's  private  library  as  well  as  those  which  I 
have  myself  brought  together,  give  you  much  material.  Then 
you  could  be  near  the  Historical  societies  of  New  York  and 
Brooklyn,  to  say  nothing  of  New  England. 

With  our  present  railway  communication  a  new  and  broader 
lecture  field  would  be  easily  open  to  you.  But,  best  of  all,  your 
college  work  would  thus  be  brought  entirely  into  line  with 
your  literary  work.  Please  answer  me  at  your  earliest  con 
venience.  I  remain, 

Faithfully  yours, 

A.  D.  WHITE. 

21  May,  1 88 1.  Telegraphed  to  H.  W.  Sage  my  acceptance, 
in  the  faith  that  it  is  the  will  of  God,  and  with  the  earnest  prayer 
for  God's  blessing  on  the  act. 

Ann  Arbor,  6  June,  1881.  My  resignation  was  accepted  last 
night.  I  have  had  an  awful  shock  to-day.  Just  as  I  am  fastened 
to  Cornell  comes  an  intimation  from  President  Barnard  that 
there  is  a  vacancy  at  Columbia  and  a  likely  chance  for  me  there. 
I  read  the  letter  at  Moore's  book  store.  The  cold  sweat  came  out 
on  my  body,  and  I  almost  reeled  in  my  chair.  Seven  thousand 
dollars  and  New  York  City.  Ugh !  This  is  a  trial  of  my  faith  in 
Providence! 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  119 

However  I  telegraphed  and  wrote  that  I  could  hear  anything 
that  President  Barnard  might  have  to  say;  but  that  if  it  involved 
my  engagement  at  Cornell  the  matter  would  of  course  have  to 
be  submitted  to  the  trustees.  In  their  hands  I  should  have  to 
leave  it. 

I  cannot  tell  Jeannette  yet.  I  wrote  of  it  to  John.  It  is 
very  bitter,  bitter,  to  bear  this. 

Ann  Arbor,  22  June,  1881.  Shipped  to  Ithaca  several  cases  of 
books.  This  means  go.  Within  a  day  or  two  have  had  a  won 
derfully  clear  and  helpful  sense  of  Christ  our  Lord  as  the  personal 
manifestation  of  God  to  us,  and  of  making  God's  friendship 
real  and  close.  He  is  the  guide  of  my  life;  and  as  I  earnestly 
committed  myself  to  His  hands,  He  will  not  let  me  go  wrong. 
My  going  to  Ithaca  must  be,  I  think,  what  He  approves,  and  if 
so,  I  can  be  very  glad  over  it.  I  am  cheered  by  the  very  presence 
of  my  Master,  who  can  make  no  mistakes. 

Ann  Arbor,  25  June,  1881.  This  is  the  last  act  of  writing  I 
shall  do  in  Hillcroft  study,  a  confused  and  dismantled  place. 
This  is  sorrowful  business.  I  could  not  have  confronted  it  had  I 
known  what  it  is.  I  should  not  have  had  the  courage  to  resolve 
to  go  away. 

Good-bye,  dear  old  sacred  home  of  my  soul,  thou  cosey  study 
in  which  I  meant  to  live  out  my  life  and  to  be  laid  in  my  coffin 
before  my  burial. 

Ithaca,  i  July,  1881.  I  arrived  here  at  the  house  of  H.  W. 
Sage  at  about  two  o'clock.  Last  Saturday  I  left  home  very 
mournfully.  On  Tuesday  went  to  Grosse  Point  to  see  the  Trum- 
bull  papers;  went  through  sixteen  boxes  of  archives  and  obtained 
some  valuable  papers. 


120  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Cornell  University,  July  28,  1881 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER: 

Am  working  hard  to  get  ready  for  my  labors  here.  Every 
day  increases  my  satisfaction  in  the  change  I  have  made  in  com 
ing  to  Cornell.  I  find  an  indescribable  stimulus  in  the  fact  of 
having  my  professorship  in  the  line  of  my  literary  studies.  I 
have  ceased  almost  entirely  to  think  about  Columbia. 

I  am  in  the  right  place  for  the  present. 

I  hope  you  won't  be  offended  at  my  using  my  caligraph.  I 
abandon  the  pen  as  obsolete.  Affectionately, 

MOSE. 

Ithaca,  2  August,  1881.  Am  forty-six  years  old  to-day, 
and  younger  and  happier  than  I  was  at  twenty-six. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.,  Oct.  n,  1881 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER: 

I  am  now  in  the  full  drive  of  class  work.  I  have  two  public 
lectures  to  prepare  and  give  each  week.  My  audiences  are  large, 
including  many  people  from  the  town;  and  the  strain  upon  me 
for  the  preparation  is  very  close.  The  charm  about  it  is  that 
it  is  all  in  the  direction  of  my  chosen  studies  and  that  it  is  work 
that  I  love.  Yet  I  don't  get  much  time  for  anything  else, 
especially  letters. 

I  fully  appreciate  the  information  given  in  your  letter  of  the 
sixth.  If  you  have  seen  Putnam  since,  he  will  have  told  you  of  an 
important  letter  lately  received  by  him  from  President  Barnard 
in  which  Barnard  states  his  preference  for  me  over  any  other  can 
didate,  but  says  that  the  others  are  so  active  in  their  canvass 
that  unless  he  is  reenforced  by  my  friends  he  fears  he  cannot 
control  the  result.  It  is  just  as  I  expected.  I  am  not  willing  to 
go  into  a  campaign  of  testimonials.  I  have  felt  at  liberty,  how 
ever,  to  write  a  strong  letter  to  Barnard  on  the  subject;  have 
explained  to  him  why  I  cannot  make  an  active  canvass.  .  .  . 

I  am  willing  to  abide  the  result,  and  I  shall  not  have  a  twinge 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  121 

of  regret  if  nothing  comes  of  it  for  me.  My  life  here  has  taken 
a  fresh  and  more  attractive  start,  and  I  am  quite  likely  to  do 
here  as  much  good  work  as  I  should  do  there.  Still  the  affair 
will  be  interesting,  so  long  as  there  is  a  possibility  of  something 
so  brilliant  turning  up  there. 

I  make  a  run  out  to  Michigan  the  latter  part  of  this  week. 
I  am  to  be  ordained  at  Ann  Arbor  next  Sunday. 

Affectionately, 

MOSE. 

Ann  Arbor,  16  October,  1881.  Was  ordained  deacon  this 
morning  by  Bishop  Harris.  Sermon  by  Bishop  of  North  Caro 
lina.  In  evening  I  preached  a  sermon  on  Pontius  Pilate.  A 
day  of  deep  emotion.  God  accept  my  unworthy  life,  and  make 
it  less  unworthy.  ... 

Ithaca,  24  October,  1881.  This  morning  came  from  Putnam, 
Barnard's  letter  of  last  Friday  informing  Putnam  of  my  practi 
cal  withdrawal.  It  has  given  me  excitement  and  regret.  I 
did  not  realize  how  near  I  was  to  the  prize.  I  infer  that  the 
case  for  me  is  dashed,  and  as  the  consequence  of  my  own  act. 

So  twice,  first  by  my  haste  in  accepting  the  call  here,  and  now, 
secondly,  by  my  sense  of  duty  in  writing  to  Barnard  that  my  ac 
ceptance  was  in  doubt,  have  I  thrown  away  this  glittering  prize. 

Perhaps,  indeed,  my  subsequent  letters  may  mend  the  break. 
I  don't  much  expect  it.  But  it  is  a  real  and  bitter  trial  of  my 
faith  in  Divine  Providence.  Yet,  why?  If  I  lose  this  election 
I  must  regard  all  these  hindering  circumstances  as  providential. 
I  must  conclude  that  God  uses  my  own  decisions  to  baffle  my  own 
ambitions  that  way;  that  it  is  His  will  that  I  remain  here  for  a 
time,  and  that  what  is  His  will  is  best. 

Ah!  that  last  thought  is  very  consoling  to  me  at  this  moment. 
How  little  I  know  what  is  best  for  me !  If  I  am  to  be  disap 
pointed  now,  doubtless  I  shall  see  how  good  it  was  for  me. 
God  guide  my  footsteps! 


122  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  25  October,  1881.  I  went  to  sleep  last  night  praying 
that  God  would  direct  my  ways  and  make  plain  to  me  what  is 
His  will;  and  this  morning  my  first  moment  of  consciousness 
was  bitter  with  anxiety  about  the  present  crisis.  Then  I  prayed 
most  earnestly  for  the  power  to  trust  myself  in  God's  hands, 
and  to  be  content  to  let  this  business  end  as  He  wills.  I  have 
made  mistakes  of  judgment,  but  I  have  tried  to  do  what  is  honest 
and  right.  I  have  done  the  best  I  could  do.  I  have  no  more 
to  do  but  to  wait  for  the  end,  and  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  Surely, 
whether  I  go  or  stay,  a  vista  of  glorious  action  stretches  before 
me.  .  .  .  During  the  morning  my  spirit  was  in  so  much 
trouble  that  I  cried  out  in  prayer  to  God  for  guidance  and  the 
peace  which  comes  of  trust  in  Him.  In  this  act  I  opened  the 
Psalter,  and  my  eye  fell  on  this  verse,  the  sixteenth  of  the  twenty- 
seventh  Psalm,  "O  tarry  thou  the  Lord's  leisure;  be  strong,  and 
he  shall  comfort  thine  heart,  and  put  thou  thy  trust  in  the  Lord." 
This  brought  me  unspeakable  rest,  and  I  was  able  to  leave  all 
things  with  God. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Cornell    University,   October   28,    1881 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER: 

...  If  I  could  tell  you  the  whole  case,  you  would  agree 
with  me,  I  think,  that  my  going  to  Columbia  is  not  sure  to  be 
an  advantage  to  me,  as  respects  the  things  for  which  I  live. 
Of  course,  it  has  many  glittering  advantages,  but  whether  these 
would  not  take  away  more  than  they  offer  is  what  I  am  by  no 
means  sure  of.  I  shall  accept,  if  it  is  offered;  but  I  should  do  so 
with  many  doubts.  In  this  state  of  mind,  it  is  very  easy  for  me 
to  do  what  honor  requires,  to  remain  passive  and  wait  for  the 
result  with  serenity. 

Affectionately, 

MOSE. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  123 

Ithaca,  i  November,  1881.  In  the  evening  Edward  A.  Free 
man  lectured.  Crowd.  Lecturer  had  to  sit,  with  his  leg  up  on 
a  foot  rest.  Audience  were  pleased.  E.  A.  Freeman  is  a  hard 
man  to  talk  to,  takes  no  interest  in  scenery,  will  not  visit 
Niagara,  and  has  expressed  no  interest  in  seeing  any  par 
ticular  thing  in  America  except  a  "township,"  or  a  " town- 
meeting.  " 

Ithaca,  8  November,  1881.  Went  to  Freeman's  lecture,  which 
was  dull  and  tedious  to  an  almost  deadly  degree.  Afterward 
went  to  the  rectory  and  met  Bishop  Huntington  for  the  first 
time.  The  Bishop  has  a  refined,  noble,  and  intellectual  look; 
a  truly  handsome  old  man,  with  trustworthiness,  solidity  of 
character  and  attainment  stamped  upon  him.  He  does  not  draw 
my  affection  as  Bishop  Harris  does;  and  he  impresses  me  as  lack 
ing  the  largest  sort  of  greatness:  that  which  takes  a  universal 
and  wholesome  view,  without  crotchets.  I  spoke  with  him  about 
preaching  in  Sage  Chapel.  His  answer  was  disappointing,  that 
President  White  had  appealed  to  the  students  to  attend  for  the 
reason  that  they  could  thus  hear  the  greatest  pulpit  orators  in 
the  country;  that  he  had  no  respect  for  a  system  based  on  such 
a  spirit;  that  he  did  not  care  to  be  one  of  a  succession  of  preachers 
to  be  talked  over  and  compared  like  a  set  of  performers.  He 
thought  the  true  way  was  to  have  one  man  come  and  remain  for 
a  series  of  sermons,  and  make  a  continuous  impression. 

There  is  much  truth  in  all  this,  but  it  misses  the  situation. 
It  fails  to  deal  with  the  facts  of  the  case.  I  think  it  illustrates 
the  limitations  of  his  greatness.  St.  Paul  or  Luther  would  not 
have  stopped  and  pottered  over  such  objections.  A  great  com 
mon  sense  is  a  trait  of  the  greatest  sort  of  man.  I  think 
Bishop  H.  has  thrown  away  a  great  opportunity  of  influence  in 
the  university  and  of  swaying  its  councils.  He  might  have  kept 
it  under  more  positive  religious  guidance  all  along.  Here  is  a 


124  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

tremendous  battery;  why  should  he  not  capture  it  for  the  Great 
Captain  ? 

Ithaca,  17  November,  1881.  Worked  away  till  11:25  on  the 
business  side  of  colony  planting;  and  at  twelve  lectured  on  the 
Pilgrim  fathers.  I  have  got  over  all  doubt  about  extemporane 
ous  lectures.  I  shall  not  write  any,  except  as  I  do  so  for  an  ulti 
mate  literary  object — L  e.y  for  a  book,  etc. 

Ithaca,  31  December,  1881.  Am  thinking  much  of  the  year 
that  is  now  just  coming  to  an  end;  a  great  and  tragic  year  as 
respects  the  world;  and  as  respects  myself,  a  year  of  the  great 
break-up  at  Hillcroft;  a  pathetic  year,  indeed.  The  effects  of 
this  great  revolution  in  my  life  are  not  yet  apparent.  I  have 
acted  in  humble  faith  in  God's  providence,  and  I  believe  that 
all  has  been  for  the  best.  A  slight  mist  of  uncertainty  still 
covers  the  situation,  for  there  is  a  bare  possibility  of  my  being 
called  to  Columbia.  If  this  should  be  done,  I  could  not  interpret 
the  past  year,  unless  I  should  have  more  light. 

I  grieve  to-night  over  two  or  three  faults  of  my  life,  involving 
consequences  to  others,  and  very  dear  to  me,  that  are  now  full 
of  bitterness  to  my  spirit.  God  forgive  me  and  make  me  patient. 


CHAPTER  X 

f 
1882 

Ithaca,  i  January,  1882.  Sunday  morning.  I  begin  the  new 
year  with  this  new  book.  I  have  been  turning  over  these  blank 
leaves  and  trying  to  peer  into  the  future,  which  is  as  blank  as 
they  are.  Here  the  future  is  to  write  itself.  It  gives  me  a 
sort  of  awe  to  ask  what  these  pages  are  going  to  contain;  what 
bitter  griefs;  what  successes;  whose  deaths;  what  changes  in 
my  outward  life,  and  in  my  little  household.  Here  I  am  in 
bleak,  sullen  old  Cascadilla,  in  my  study  that  is  very  cosey  and 
pleasant.  Where  shall  I  be  when  I  finish  the  book?  Or  shall 
I  finish  it? 

These,  indeed,  are  rather  juvenile  sentimentalizings  for  an 
old  fellow  like  me.  They  remind  me  of  some  of  those  gushing 
and  elaborately  obvious  entries  that  I  used  to  make  in  my 
journals  which  I  wrote  twenty-five  and  thirty  years  ago,  and 
which  I  have  since  had  the  grace  to  burn  up,  as  I  probably 
shall  dispose  of  this  book. 

Nevertheless,  the  beginning  of  a  year  seems  a  serious  affair, 
for  young  or  old.  I  thank  God  for  his  goodness  to  me  in  all  the 
years  that  have  gone  before  this;  and  I  reverently  implore 
His  presence  and  blessing  through  this  year  that  is  now  but  a 
few  hours  old.  I  pray  for  health  and  spirits  to  do  my  work  well ; 
for  success  in  my  undertakings;  for  Heaven's  guidance,  for  sub 
mission  to  Heaven's  guidance.  I  pray  for  blessings  on  my  be 
loved  wife  and  daughter  and  son. 

I  have  got  but  little  done  in  my  book  this  past  year;  yet 
I  have  been  a  very  busy  man;  and  much  of  my  work  will  tell 

125 


126  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

by  and  by.  But  I  do  hope  that  the  end  of  this  year  may  find  me 
much,  very  much,  nearer  the  end  of  my  third  volume  than  I 
am  now. 

So,  trying  to  leave  all  trustfully  in  the  Best  Hands,  I  launch 
out  into  the  near  future. 

A  snow  storm  is  doing  its  quiet  and  beautiful  work  outside. 
I  am  very  tired  and  am  resting  serenely  at  home. 

Ithaca,  6  January.  Have  had  the  best  morning  for  work  that 
I  have  known  in  many  weeks.  Pounding  away  on  lectures  on 
origin  and  growth  of  civil  government  in  Virginia. 

In  the  evening  went  to  a  party.  Heard  a  new  story  about 
Freeman.  He  lectured  recently  at  New  Haven  in  his  shabby  old 
blouse,  with  woollen  shirt,  and  so  on.  After  the  lecture  an  ele 
gant  reception  was  given  him;  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  evening 
dress.  A  person  came  in  who  had  not  been  at  the  lecture,  and 
didn't  know  Freeman.  He  said,  "Who  is  that?"  "That,77 
said  Lounsbury,  "is  a  Saxon  swineherd  before  the  Norman 
Conquest."  This  story  has  been  going  the  rounds  wherever 
Freeman  has  been;  and  Professor  Bryce,  now  in  this  country, 
promises  to  take  it  back  to  Oxford,  where,  he  says,  it  will  be  en 
joyed  more  than  anywhere  else.  Somebody  remarked  about 
Lounsbury's  mot  that  that  was  exactly  his  (Lounsbury's)  old 
costume.  Mr. ,  who  was  there,  said:  "No,  not  now.  Louns 
bury  is  changed.  While  he  was  in  college  he  was  dirty  in  person 
and  dress;  and  after  graduation,  when  he  worked  in  New  York 
on  Appleton's  Cyclopcedia,  he  was  very  shabby  in  appear 
ance." 

Ithaca,  January  20.  Gave  the  forenoon  till  twelve  to  work 
on  lecture,  and  then  gave  the  lecture.  I  was  so  hoarse  that  I 
had  nothing  but  a  croak  to  speak  with. 

Had  a  letter  from  President  Barnard  to-day  indicating  that 
he  has  entirely  or  nearly  lost  influence  with  his  board  of  trustees. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  127 

My  mind  is  at  last  getting  into  clear  light  about  the  meaning, 
the  goodness,  and  wisdom  of  that  Providence  which  overruled 
my  course  last  year  —  about  which  I  have  been  in  an  agony 
of  doubt.  It  is  all  coming  out  well  —  the  best. 

Ithaca,  22  January.  Sunday.  Remained  at  home  on  ac 
count  of  my  cold.  Read  prayers  in  my  room.  Wrote  letter  to 
Haven  Putnam,  telling  him  frankly  that  I  wish  my  name  with 
drawn  from  the  Columbia  competition,  and  asking  if  after  all 
his  effort  in  my  behalf  he  will  think  my  withdrawal  ungrateful  or 
unfair.  I  am  sure  that  he  will  release  me  from  embarrassment 
on  this  account,  and  on  receiving  word  from  him  to  that  effect, 
I  shall  notify  President  Barnard.  I  feel  inexpressible  relief 
to  have  done  this;  it  is  the  deep  reason  conquering  the  shallow 
one.  I  am  glad  to  have  my  future  freed  from  the  impending 
possibility  of  going  away  from  my  chosen  work  here.  It  is  all 
help  toward  concentration,  solidity,  spiritual  independence, 
personal  dignity.  My  spirit  sings  like  a  lark,  under  the  joy 
which  this  resolution  gives  me.  Everything  within  me  testi 
fies  that  I  am  doing  the  right  thing  —  which  is  always  the  wise 
one.  All  the  mystery  of  the  past  year  is  now  cleared  up.  I 
can  see  the  benign  guidance  which  I  have  had.  I  take  a  great 
stride  in  the  life  of  trust.  The  help  of  spiritual  counsel,  and 
of  the  Father's  control,  will  seem  richer  and  sweeter  than  ever. 
How  glad  I  am  to  be  able  to  settle  down  and  concentrate  myself 
on  American  history  here.  I  feel  like  chanting  a  Laus  Deo. 


/BETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Q 

132  W.  Madison  f  street,  Baltimore,  February  8,  1882 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER: 

I  arrived  here  yesterday  to  give  a  course  of  lectures  before 
the  Peabody  Institute.     Gave  first  lecture  last  night.     Expect 


128  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  get  through  next  week,  Thursday,  and  to  return  at  once  to 
Ithaca.  I  am  giving  here  the  same  lectures  that  I  gave  at  the 
Lowell  Institute  last  year. 

As  to  the  Columbia  matter,  I  have  had  my  name  absolutely 
withdrawn,  although  Barnard  and  Putnam  were  sorry  to  have  me 
do  so.  They  thought  my  chances  were  good.  But  that  was 
what  troubled  me.  I  don't  want  the  place.  I  prefer  American 
history  at  Cornell  to  anything  else  anywhere  else. 

Affectionately,  M.  C.  TYLER. 

Ithaca,  26  February.  Went  to  St.  John's  and  heard  the  Bishop 
preach.  Dined  at  the  rectory  with  the  Bishop,  who  before 
dinner  privately  asked  me  if  he  might  call  on  me  for  Sunday 
work  in  cases  of  emergency.  I  gave  a  qualified  answer.  At 
dinner  he  spoke  of  Baltimore  as  a  place  he  greatly  liked,  "be 
cause,  if  I  may  speak  characteristically,  it  is  like  Boston." 

He  still  has  the  Bostonian's  awe  of  Daniel  Webster,  and 
tenderness  even  for  his  faults.  He  told  me  of  one  occasion  at 
which  Webster  was  dining  with  a  large  party  in  Washington,  of 
his  talking  grandly  and  having  great  deference  paid  to  him, 
and  near  the  end  of  the  meal  resting  his  head  upon  his  hand 
and  sinking  into  a  majestic  nap. 

The  Bishop  also  told  this  story  of  Webster:  The  latter  was 
retained  in  a  great  case  in  Boston  and  was  to  cross-examine  and 
try  to  break  down  a  witness  named  Perkins  —  a  man  of  leisure 
about  town  —  famous  for  his  coolness  and  imperturbability. 
When  Webster  began,  he  did  it  in  a  stern,  Jove-like  style.  "  Now, 
Mr.  Perkins,  I  want  you  to  tell  this  court  what  your  business 
is."  This  was  expected  to  embarrass  him. 

He  waited  till  there  was  dead  silence  in  the  room,  and  then 
said  significantly,  "My  principal  business  is  to  borrow  money, 
and  get  my  friends  to  endorse  my  notes." 

The  shot  told,  but  Webster  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  His 
face  relaxed  into  a  benevolent  smile,  and  he  said  with  a  gracious 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  129 

sort  of  irony,  "A  very  honorable  but  a  very  arduous  occupation, 
Mr.  Perkins." 

Ithaca,  27  February.  At  half-past  two  to  half-past  three, 
quiz;  worst  specimen  of  work  that  I  have  had  yet.  I  don't 
get  the  work  out  of  these  students  that  I  will. 

I  have  had  a  surprise  to-day.  I  have  taken  comfort  in  think 
ing  that  I  was  out  of  the  Columbia  contest,  but  Putnam  encloses 
a  letter  from  Dr.  F.  C.  Ewer  saying  that  of  the  thirty  or  forty 
candidates,  all  are  laid  aside  but  two,  and  the  contest  now  lies 
between  those  two,  and  that  one  of  them  is  Tyler.  I  am  sorry. 
This  disturbs  me.  It  is  a  menace  to  my  plans.  I  fear  to  be 
tempted. 

Ithaca,  28  February.  Quiz.  Dull  boys  and  girls,  some  of 
them.  On  the  whole  am  rather  disappointed  with  my  students, 
less  mature,  able,  and  earnest  than  I  expected;  don't  take  hold 
of  work.  In  the  evening  read  Elaine's  oration  on  Garfield  — 
a  happy  relief  from  the  stilted  rhetoric  of  our  ordinary  American 
statesman  on  parade. 

Ithaca,  14  March.  The  New  York  tribune  has  a  friendly 
paragraph  about  me  in  connection  with  the  Columbia  profes 
sorship.  I  sincerely  wish  the  subject  were  dropped. 

FROM  THE  NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE,  MARCH  13 

"Professor  Moses  Coit  Tyler,  formerly  of  the  University  of 
Michigan,  and  now  professor  of  American  history  and  literature 
at  Cornell  University,  has  frequently  been  mentioned  as  a  pos 
sible  candidate  for  the  long  vacant  chair  of  English  literature 
at  Columbia  College,  and  there  has  in  consequence  been  some 
speculation  regarding  his  religious  creed.  It  has  been  said 
that  he  is  an  agnostic.  In  truth,  however,  his  faith  is  a  very 


i3o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

positive  one,  and  he  was  a  few  months  ago  ordained  a  deacon 
in  the  Protestant  Episcopal  church.  He  is  an  indefatigable 
literary  worker  outside  the  duties  of  his  professorship,  being 
now  engaged  in  preparing  for  the  press  the  third  volume  of  his 
History  of  American  literature,  and  has  recently  delivered  a 
course  of  four  lectures  on  that  subject  in  Baltimore." 

Ithaca,  25  March.  The  Tribune  this  evening  brings  the  news 
of  the  death  of  Longfellow,  yesterday,  at  his  home  in  Cambridge. 
This  is  everybody's  sorrow. 

Ithaca,  4  April.  The  Columbia  trustees  yesterday  elected 
Price,  of  the  University  of  Virginia,  as  professor  of  English.  I  am 
profoundly  satisfied.  The  news  proves  a  great  disappointment 
to  Jeannette,  though,  who  would  love  to  live  in  New  York. 
It  is  better  for  me  to  live  in  the  country. 

Ithaca,  9  April.  Dined  last  night  with  President  Seelye,  of 
Amherst,  who  preached  at  the  chapel.  Heard  this  story  of 
Lincoln:  Some  one  was  talking  with  President  Lincoln,  and 
mixed  with  his  talk  a  great  deal  of  profanity.  Suddenly  Lincoln 

broke  in:    "Mr. ,  are  you  an  Episcopalian?"     "No,  Mr. 

President;  why  did  you  think  so?"  "Oh,  you  swear  almost 
as  bad  as  Seward,  and  Seward  is  an  Episcopalian,  and  I  didn't 
know  but  you  might  belong  to  the  same  church  with  him." 

Ithaca,  27  April.  Great  men  are  passing  away  this  year. 
Charles  Darwin  was  buried  this  week  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
Emerson  is  now  sinking. 

Ithaca,  28  April.  The  words  in  the  last  line  above  were  truer 
than  I  knew.  News  comes  that  Emerson  died  last  night  be 
tween  eight  and  nine. 

Ithaca,  7  May.    A  rumor  is  circulated  to-day  of  the  assassina- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  131 

tion,  last  night  in  Dublin,  of  Lord  Frederick  Cavendish,  the  new 
chief  secretary  for  Ireland.  As  he  represents  a  new  policy  of 
concession  to  Ireland,  it  seems  an  unlikely  story,  and  we  suspend 
our  faith. 

Ithaca,  8  May.  The  rumor  of  the  assassination  of  Lord  F. 
Cavendish  is  more  than  confirmed,  for  the  under  secretary, 
Thomas  H.  Burke,  was  slain  with  him,  both  butchered  by 
knives  in  the  daylight,  in  the  park.  It  is  a  ferocious  and  dra 
matic  crime,  and  its  effect  on  Ireland  may  be  miserable. 

Ithaca,  15  May.  Down  town  this  morning  I  bought  the  two 
new  volumes  of  Bancroft  —  his  History  of  the  constitution. 
They  are  perhaps  the  last  living  gift  of  the  old  historian  to  the 
world. 

Ithaca,  19  May.  One  year  ago,  by  the  day  of  the  week,  Jean- 
nette  and  I  were  received  here  by  the  Sages  and  inspected  the 
university,  and  I  was  conquered.  The  transition  has  been 
toilsome  and  saddening,  a  great  interruption  to  my  book  work, 
but  in  the  long  run  it  promises  to  be  a  benefit.  I  finished  Ban 
croft  to-day.  A  strong  book  for  an  old  fellow  of  eighty-two, 
but  it  will  be  dry  reading  except  for  specialists. 

[Owing  to  a  nervous  breakdown,  the  next  three  months  were 
spent  in  Europe,  as  rest  from  brain  work  had  been  urgently 
advised  by  the  physician.] 

II 

At  Sea.  Steamboat  Egypt,  4  June.  We  have  just  had  lunch 
eon.  All  the  passengers  are  well;  and  I  begin  my  daily  jot 
tings  of  travel.  The  voyage  thus  far  has  been  altogether  lovely. 
On  Friday  night,  as  we  lay  at  the  dock,  the  air  of  our  state-rooms 
was  rather  close;  and  there  was  too  much  noise  for  good  sleep. 


132  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

By  4  A.  M.  on  Saturday  morning  I  heard  the  stir  on  deck  which 
denoted  that  the  men  were  at  work.  So  before  five  I  was  up 
and  on  deck  too.  There  was  all  the  show  of  preparation  for  a 
voyage  —  sailors  getting  the  ship  ready  to  move  off,  carriages 
coming  up  and  unloading  passengers,  parcels  coming,  good-byes, 
laughter,  crying. 

Promptly  by  six  the  ship  moved  quietly  out  of  the  slip  into 
the  Hudson  and  down  the  bay,  and  out  into  the  sea.  She  is  a 
grand  ship  and  inspired  us  all  with  confidence  at  sight  and  we 
love  her  and  trust  her  more  and  more.  A  far  better  ship  every 
way  —  in  size,  build,  power,  conveniences,  appointments  — 
than  any  other  I  was  ever  on. 

Yesterday  being  our  first  day  out,  all  things  were  novel  and 
experimental.  Passengers  were  peeping  out  at  one  another 
and  finding  out  who's  who;  walking  about  the  ship  and  prying 
into  their  mysteries;  and  for  my  part  I  was  too  tired  and  drowsy 
to  let  my  diary  begin  with  the  day.  I  lay  in  my  ship  chair, 
covered  with  a  rug  on  the  deck,  and  snoozed;  now  and  then 
walked;  ate  only  four  meals;  and  went  to  bed  just  after  nine 
and  slept  a  solid  sleep  all  night.  The  slight  surrender  of  the 
ship  to  the  motion  of  the  water  affected  me  just  a  little  with 
suspicion;  but  I  have  now  got  used  to  that.  To-day,  refreshed 
by  the  good  sleep  of  last  night,  I  have  walked  the  deck  for  miles; 
I  had  hoped  that  there  would  be  a  service  on  board;  but  the 
captain,  who  conducts  it,  was  up  all  night  on  account  of  the 
fog,  and  accordingly  says  he  will  not  have  the  service.  He  has 
not  inquired  whether  there  is  any  clergyman  on  board,  and  has 
not  asked  me  to  officiate,  and  I  have  not  consented  to  have  it 
proposed  to  him. 

At  Sea,  9  June.  So  far  I  had  written  last  Sunday,  when  I 
went  on  deck.  Presently  a  steward  came  to  me  with  the  cap 
tain's  compliments  and  asked  me  if  I  would  conduct  religious 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  133 

services.  I  cheerfully  consented;  the  prayer  books  were  gath 
ered,  and  I  had  not  gone  far  when  I  began  to  feel  sick.  The  air 
of  the  saloon,  with  the  motion  of  the  ship,  was  too  much  for  me. 
I  had  to  cut  short  the  service  and  retire  to  my  state-room,  where 
I  promptly  paid  tribute  to  the  powers  of  the  ocean. 

Since  then  we  have  had  a  prosperous  voyage,  no  rough  weather, 
yet  sufficient  motion  to  make  me  disinclined  to  writing  or  reading. 

We  have  had  much  rain  and  fogs;  for  a  day  or  two  after  Sunday 
I  could  not  go  to  my  meals,  but  had  them  brought  to  me  on 
deck.  Since  then  I  have  felt  much  better. 

Yesterday  we  reached  mid-ocean  and  are  now  on  the  last 
half  of  the  voyage,  with  every  prospect  of  reaching  Liverpool  by 
next  Tuesday,  and  Queenstown  the  day  before.  Already  the 
passengers  are  beginning  to  get  their  letters  ready  to  mail  at  that 
place  —  and  I  shall  follow  their  example.  Professor  Corson  is 
on  board. 

I  have  never  travelled  with  a  more  delightful  companion. 
He  is  an  inexhaustible  source  of  entertainment.  His  mind  is  a 
magazine  of  anecdotes  and  literary  quotations ;  his  wit  is  brilliant ; 
he  has  been  in  gay  spirits  most  of  the  time;  and  I  have  had  some 
of  the  finest  talks  with  him  I  ever  had  with  anybody.  He 
quotes  Shakespeare  or  Tennyson  by  the  hour;  you  mention  a 
word  and  he  has  a  passage  of  poetry  to  quote  in  which  the  word 
occurs;  and  in  critical  and  speculative  thought  his  conversation 
is  as  rich  as  it  is  in  literary  reminiscence.  Occasionally  he  gets 
out  of  patience  with  somebody  or  something  on  the  ship;  but 
his  spurts  of  anger  are  also  brilliant  and  amusing. 

As  regards  the  passengers  as  a  body,  they  are  not  particularly 
interesting;  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  less  objectionable  than 
those  I  have  previously  crossed  with.  There  are  several  actors 
going  over  for  the  summer  vacation.  Neill  Burgess,  who  plays 
Widow  Bedott;  a  Mrs.  Eldredge  of  the  Union  Square  Theatre  — 
a  noisy,  comic  person  —  and  one  or  two  others.  With  Colonel 


134  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Sprague  travels  Mr.  Ellin  wood,  the  stenographer  who  has  for 
many  years  reported  Beecher's  sermons.  Besides  these,  the 
most  noticeable  people  are  J.  J.  Piatt  and  his  wife,  both  poets 
and  authors  and  very  refined  and  agreeable  people.  They  are 
on  their  way  to  Cork,  with  six  young  children.  Mr.  Piatt  is 
newly  appointed  consul  at  Cork.  Rather  a  dull  place  to  pick 
out  for  a  pair  of  poets. 

Our  second  Sunday  at  Sea,  n  June.  Nothing  special  to  report 
since  yesterday.  We  are  moving  on  steadily  toward  land.  The 
sea-gulls  have  come  out  from  shore  some  hundreds  of  miles  to 
welcome  us  and  to  pick  up  food  in  the  track  of  our  ship.  The 
air  is  raw  and  chilly.  The  sky  is  filled  with  clouds.  There  is 
some  sea  on  and  the  ship  rolls  rather  more  than  it  has  done 
before. 

I  have  decided  to  stay  in  Liverpool  only  a  few  hours;  to  go 
thence  to  Chester  for  a  day;  then  to  Warwick  and  Stratford. 
I  feel  a  greater  desire  to  visit  the  Shakespeare  haunts  than  any 
other  place  out  of  London. 

While  we  were  in  mid-ocean  we  scarcely  saw  a  ship  or,  in  fact, 
any  object  except  the  tipsy  waves.  Yesterday  morning  great 
excitement  was  raised  by  the  cry  of  a  sail  and  presently  a  full 
rigged  ship  passed  near  us  westward;  and  in  a  few  hours  after 
ward  another.  We  were  as  much  exhilarated  as  if  a  new  planet 
had  been  discovered. 

June  12.  The  ship  is  all  excitement  and  joy.  About  two 
hours  ago  land  was  seen  away  off  to  the  northeast  of  us.  I  had 
just  got  on  deck.  A  small  boy  ran  up  eagerly  with  the  news; 
and  a  little  way  off  a  crowd  of  passengers  were  eagerly  gazing 
and  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  alleged  object.  For  a 
while  I  could  not  make  it  out;  then  it  became  clear  —  a  hill, 
then  another  hill,  and  a  series  of  them.  It  is  Cape  Clear,  the 
southwest  point  of  the  island.  The  sun  shines  brightly;  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  135 

wind  is  fresh;  and  the  ship  is  spinning  gayly  along.  To  add 
to  our  pleasure,  soon  after  we  saw  land  a  kind  whale  swam  past 
us,  and  spouted  three  or  four  times  —  to  give  us  welcome  to 
the  Old  World. 

We  are  now  counting  the  hours  before  we  reach  Queenstown 
and  Liverpool.  The  letter  bag  is  ready  for  letters  and  I  will 
close  this  and  go  on  deck.  Good-bye,  now,  all  the  dear  ones 
across  the  sea. 

I  remember  the  emotion  with  which  I  first  caught  sight  of 
Europe  sixteen  years  ago.  I  can't  enjoy  that  sentiment  now, 
or  call  it  back.  It  is  pleasant  to  look  upon  Europe  once  more, 
but  that  old  sentiment  can  be  had  for  use  only  once.  Make  the 
most  of  it,  ye  youngsters. 

Liverpool,  13  June.  We  reached  dock  this  morning  at  about 
eleven.  I  greatly  enjoyed  the  sail  last  night  along  the  Irish 
coast,  and  up  into  St.  George's  channel  and  stayed  late  on  deck. 

On  coming  ashore  we  had  to  wait  an  hour  or  two  to  pass  the 
customs  officers;  and  there  I  found  awaiting  me  a  disgusting 
surprise.  The  great  leather  valise  which  I  had  delivered  to  the 
baggage  master  to  be  put  into  the  hold  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
I  had  with  me  in  the  state-room  only  the  smaller  valise  con 
taining  my  travelling  suit  and  a  few  necessary  articles  for  the 
voyage.  All  the  rest  —  three  suits  of  clothes,  shirts,  letters 
of  introduction,  etc.,  etc. — were  in  the  big  one.  I  caused  the  ship 
to  be  searched  thoroughly  once  more,  but  in  vain.  To  my  dis 
may,  I  find  myself  landed  in  England  without  an  outfit.  What 
has  become  of  the  valise  I  can't  tell.  I  went  to  the  company's 
office  and  made  my  complaint,  and  they  promised  to  cable  to 
New  York  for  the  valise  to  be  promptly  sent  on  by  the  next 
steamer.  But  I  fear  lest  the  bag  may  have  been  stolen  alto 
gether.  This  bother  about  the  lost  bag  annoyed  me  excessively 
and  I  talked  some  tall  American  talk  to  the  officers  of  the  com- 


136  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

pany  here;  but  now  that  I  have  done  all  I  can  to  rectify  the 
misfortune,  I  am  going  to  take  a  comic  view  of  the  business 
and  have  a  jolly  good  time,  anyway.  I  guess  I  can  have  fun 
without  those  letters  of  introduction,  and  without  a  swallow- 
tailed  coat,  and  when  I  come  home  I  may  write  a  book  on 
Seeing  Europe  with  only  one  shirt. 

London,  77  June.  Yesterday  morning  rambled  about  the 
streets  and  at  twelve  called  at  the  American  legation,  near 
Parliament  House,  and  saw  one  of  the  secretaries  and  an  old 
acquaintance  of  mine.  I  defer  seeing  Mr.  Lowell  until  my 
letters  come. 

Then  I  wandered  through  Westminster  Hall  and  witnessed 
proceedings  in  the  several  courts.  At  about  half-past  two  I 
crossed  Westminster  bridge,  and  went  to  Lambeth  Palace, 
nearby,  to  attend  a  meeting  in  aid  of  Pere  Hyacinthe.  This  is 
one  of  the  most  ancient  buildings  in  London  and  I  was  deeply 
impressed  by  my  visit  to  it.  For  six  hundred  years  it  has  been 
the  seat  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  I  arrived  early  and 
helped  myself  to  a  front  seat  close  to  the  desk,  so  that  I  could 
look  the  Archbishop  in  the  eye.  Among  the  bishops  and  noble 
men  with  whom  I  soon  found  myself  in  close  conjunction  was 
Baroness  Burdett-Coutts.  She  was  opposite  and  very  near  and 
I  had  a  good  chance  to  study  her  face.  She  looks  old,  is  thin 
and  wrinkled,  but  has  a  very  kind  eye,  and  a  gentle,  benevolent 
expression.  She  came  in  with  Lord  Houghton  and  went  out  with 
him.  The  young  man,  her  husband,  was  not  there. 

London,  19  June.  Yesterday  was  a  day  of  great  satisfaction 
to  me.  At  eleven  I  went  to  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Mar 
garet's  —  close  to  Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  built  in  the  time 
of  Edward  I.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  Caxton  are  buried  here. 
Its  rector  is  Canon  Farrar.  The  church  was  densely  packed 
and  I  could  only  get  a  footstool  in  the  aisle  to  sit  on.  Farrar 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  137 

preached  a  brilliant,  impassioned  sermon  on  Garibaldi.  The 
service  was  most  hearty,  quite  plain,  though  choral;  the  re 
sponses  like  the  roar  of  the  ocean. 

London,  ip  June.  I  closed  a  batch  of  memoranda  for  home 
this  morning.  I  was  kept  in  till  nearly  twelve  by  writing  letters. 
Then  started  for  the  House  of  Commons,  where  I  was  to  be  at 
half-past  three.  Spent  the  intervening  time  in  rambling  through 
the  Covent  Garden  region,  Trafalgar  Square,  Pall  Mall,  and 
Piccadilly.  Called  at  the  office  of  the  New  York  tribune  in 
Bedford  street,  but  did  not  find  Smalley.  The  region  of  Pall 
Mall  is  that  of  the  great  clubs,  etc.  The  tone  is  immensely 
aristocratic.  I  got  lunch  en  route.  As  I  was  walking  through 
St.  James'  park  I  saw  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  pass 
in  their  carriage.  I  caught  but  a  glimpse. 

I  got  a  seat  in  the  strangers'  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
half  an  hour  before  it  was  time  for  the  meeting  to  begin,  and 
had  a  chance  to  witness  the  ceremony  of  opening  —  prayers, 
etc.  There  was  no  great  debate  on,  but  a  session  prolonged 
nearly  all  night  by  the  dilatory  discussion  of  the  Irish  bills, 
by  the  Irish  members.  Their  object  is  delay.  I  heard  Gladstone 
make  several  little  speeches.  Sixteen  years  have  told  on  him. 
He  is  still  strong  and  vigorous,  but  looks  like  an  old  man.  His 
voice  is  not  so  strong  and  rich  as  it  used  to  be.  John  Bright  did 
not  speak,  but  he  was  in  full  view  —  a  robust,  elegant,  white- 
haired  old  man.  I  was  most  interested  to  hear  Macaulay's 
nephew  and  biographer,  Trevelyan,  who  spoke  several  times. 
He  is  very  able.  I  also  heard  Sir  Charles  Dilke,  Sir  William 
Harcourt,  and  Lord  Hartington.  I  remained  nearly  five  hours 
in  the  House  and  then  through  fatigue  in  that  foul  air  I  came  out, 
leaving  the  Irish  members  engaged  in  worrying  the  imperial 
parliament  till  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

It  was  about  half-past  eight,  and  after  eating  a  mutton  chop 


138  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  refreshed  myself  by  riding  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus  for  an 
hour  or  two.  I  rode  to  London  bridge  and  back  again.  The 
sights  and  sounds  of  the  mighty  city,  as  contemplated  at  night 
from  the  top  of  an  omnibus,  are  full  of  interest  —  amusing,  pa 
thetic,  instructive.  I  especially  rejoice  in  the  chatter  of  the  drivers, 
cabbies,  etc.,  as  they  chaff  one  another  and  the  passers-by. 

On  the  question  of  personal  manners  in  the  English  Parlia 
ment,  one  finds  queer  illustrations  there.  During  the  debate, 
for  full  half  an  hour,  a  member  sat  on  the  front  opposition  bench, 
with  his  feet  upon  the  clerk's  table,  his  hat  on,  himself  lolling 
back  on  the  bench,  and  in  full  view  of  the  assembled  dignity 
and  power  of  the  British  empire  actually  picked  his  nose  with  his 
right  forefinger  and  then  carefully  examined  the  end  of  that 
finger  after  each  operation.  Suppose  an  English  tourist  had 
seen  such  a  sight  in  our  Congress  —  what  a  paragraph  it  would 
have  made  in  the  book  of  travels  on  the  rudeness  of  American 
manners!  I  forgot  to  mention  that  yesterday  Prof.  Henry 
Morley,  of  University  College,  London,  called  on  me  and  left 
an  invitation  for  me  to  lunch  with  him  at  half-past  one  at  the 
college.  The  college  is  a  huge  building  in  Gower  street,  quite 
imposing  in  appearance.  I  had  never  seen  Morley.  He  is  a 
bluff,  broad-chested,  big,  hearty  Englishman,  with  rather  coarse 
but  kindly  features,  the  digestion  of  an  ox,  and  an  energetic,  bust 
ling  manner.  About  fifty-five  years  old.  He  trotted  me  all  over 
the  college,  showing  me  class  rooms,  laboratories,  museums, 
etc.  They  have  a  dining  or  lunch  room  in  the  college,  where 
many  students  and  professors  take  their  mid-day  meal.  The 
college  is  only  about  fifty  years  old;  represents  the  secular 
principle  in  education,  as  opposed  to  ecclesiastical  control  of 
universities;  is  co-educational;  is  looked  down  upon  by  the  aris 
tocratic  and  conservative  old  universities;  but  is  full  of  life, 
progress,  and  power.  It  has  about  2,000  students,  some  1,400 
without  the  preparatory  school.  It  means  for  England  what 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  139 

Michigan  and  Cornell  mean  for  America.  Morley  and  I  had 
a  nice  lunch  together  and  a  nice  talk,  although  he  is  not  a  free 
and  suggestive  talker.  He  impressed  me  as  being  a  mind  in  a 
constant  tumult  and  hurry,  not  accurate  or  orderly,  but  full  of 
vigor  and  of  noble  impulses.  After  lunch  with  him  I  went  to 
the  House  of  Commons  at  3 130  P.  M.,  and  heard  the  debate  until 
after  seven  o'clock.  It  was  still  on  the  Irish  question,  and  was 
carried  on  chiefly  by  the  Irish  members.  I  was  deeply  touched 
by  their  earnestness  and  persistence.  They  stand  at  bay  before 
the  cruel  power  of  English  authority,  and  they  retreat  inch  by 
inch,  with  desperate  fighting.  There  was  real  pathos  in  their 
voices  as  they  spoke;  no  flippancy,  no  malice,  but  grim  and 
devoted  determination  to  save  their  country  from  wrong.  These 
debates  have  enlightened  me  much  on  Irish  affairs.  During 
my  absence  to-day  I  received  the  honor  of  a  call  from  Mr. 
Lowell.  Bowker  told  me  this  is  a  great  distinction,  as  by  eti 
quette  the  American  minister  here  does  not  make  calls  on  his 
countrymen;  and  Bowker  seemed  greatly  impressed  by  the 
exception  in  my  favor.  He  said  it  was,  "  the  leader  of  American 
literature  calling  on  its  historian."  That  was  a  pleasant  com 
pliment,  to  be  sure.  And  that  reminds  me  that  I  am  much  en 
couraged  and  gratified  in  finding  in  many  incidental  ways  the 
sort  of  recognition  and  reputation  my  book  has  acquired  among 
English  men  of  letters.  These  things  no  longer  affect  me  as 
appeals  to  vanity,  but  rather  as  food  for  courage  and  strength 
to  do  more  work. 

London,  23  June.  This  day  has  been  noted  by  two  events  — 
a  call  on  James  Russell  Lowell  and  a  dinner  in  the  evening  at 
the  House  of  Commons  with  Justin  McCarthy. 

I  spent  the  forenoon  in  roaming  about  the  town,  in  the  Leices 
ter  Square  and  Pall  Mall  region.  At  about  two,  I  called  at 
the  legation  in  Victoria  street.  After  some  delay  I  was  ushered 


I4o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

into  Lowell's  room.  My  first  impression  was  of  the  gracefulness 
and  graciousness  of  the  man;  his  elegance  in  dress  and  form; 
his  manly  beauty.  As  he  told  me,  he  is  sixty- three  years  old; 
his  dark  auburn  hair  still  abundant  and  rich,  just  touched  with 
silver  and  parted  in  the  middle.  His  whiskers  are  more  whitened. 
His  eyes  bright;  his  whole  face  mobile,  aristocratic,  refined. 
The  perfect  courtier  and  man  of  the  world,  dashed  by  scholarship, 
wit,  genius,  consciousness  of  reputation,  and  success.  His  voice 
was  very  pleasant  and  sweet;  his  tones  indescribably  pleasant, 
a  pronunciation  not  copied  from  the  English,  and  as  pure  and 
melodious  as  theirs  at  the  best.  His  fluency  in  words  perfect, 
his  diction  neat,  pointed,  with  merry  implications  and  fine 
turns.  He  is  an  immense  success  in  England,  in  society  and 
public  meetings;  petted  and  flattered  like  a  prince;  admired 
by  men  and  worshipped  by  women.  He  has  the  pick  and  run 
of  the  best  society  in  the  kingdom.  His  manners  have  the 
ease,  poise,  facility,  and  polish  of  one  who  has  got  used  to  courts 
and  palaces.  I  must  say  I  never  saw  a  more  perfect  gentleman. 
Indeed,  he  is  too  perfect;  it  would  have  pleased  me  better  to 
have  found  the  poet,  satirist,  and  man  of  letters  less  worldly, 
more  simple  in  style.  I  revere  the  sturdy  dignity  and  homely 
simplicity  of  men  like  Emerson  and  Whittier. 

Lowell  greeted  me  most  cordially;  took  my  hat,  and  sat  down 
near  me;  his  face  unluckily  in  the  shade,  a  diplomatic  habit 
perhaps.  He  began  by  saying  that  he  was  anxious  to  receive 
me  in  his  house  and  to  bring  some  friends  there  to  meet  me, 
but  that  Mrs.  Lowell  had  just  had  a  fearful  relapse  and  all  his 
domestic  arrangements  were  in  abeyance.  He  said  that  her 
trouble  was  of  the  brain;  that  she  had  been  "quite  off  her  head" 
at  Madrid,  and  now  it  had  come  back  worse  than  before.  It 
was  a  great  strain  upon  him,  as  she  would  hardly  let  any  one 
but  him  do  anything  for  her ;  it  kept  him  up  nights  and  constantly 
by  her  side.  He  mentioned  some  friend — a  Countess  Somebody — 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  141 

who  came  yesterday  to  help  him;  but  Mrs.  Lowell  snubbed  her 
dreadfully,  and  wouldn't  have  her  about.  Lowell  added  that 
he  sometimes  got  so  tired  that  he  almost  lost  self-control.  Yes 
terday  he  went  into  the  park  for  exercise  and  fresh  air;  and  was 
so  tempted  to  commit  blasphemy  that  he  said  "  ' Great  Diana/ 
on  account  of  the  initial  letters,  but  doubtless  the  recording 
angel  wrote  it  down  as  God  Damn." 

He  then  spoke  of  the  annoyances  of  his  office;  and  to  show 
that  needy  Americans  in  Europe  expected  him  to  supply  them 
with  money  out  of  his  own  funds,  he  read  me  an  abusive  letter, 
just  received  from  a  woman  who  had  asked  him  for  fifteen 
hundred  francs  to  get  her  luggage  with.  She  wrote  from  New 
York  and  exulted  over  "the  downfall  of  Lowell,"  spoke  most 
insultingly  of  his  "snobbish  ways,"  his  "cold  and  fishy  eye," 
etc.  He  laughed  heartily  over  it.  As  to  the  Irish,  he  said  he 
had  done  more  for  them  than  perhaps  any  other  man  could 
have  done;  "because  I  am  personally  liked  by  the  government, 
and  they  tell  me  they  take  more  from  me  than  they  would  from 
any  one  else."  He  had  been  very  frank  with  Bright  and  Glad 
stone;  thought  the  government  was  really  increasing  its  own 
troubles  by  its  severity  toward  the  Irish;  yet  he  thought  very 
little  of  Parnell  and  the  Irish  members.  Mr.  McCarthy  has  no 
weight;  has  gone  over  to  the  Parnellists  just  to  keep  his  seat, 
although  McCarthy  was  once  very  moderate.  The  trouble 
about  the  Irish  members  is  that  they  are  not  sincere;  they  talk 
for  effect;  and  Lowell  was  assured  that  some  of  the  very  members 
who  in  the  House  are  denouncing  the  Prevention  of  Crimes  bill 
have  gone  privately  to  the  members  of  the  administration  and 
said  :  "For  God's  sake,  pass  this  bill;  we  can't  keep  the  peace 
in  Ireland  unless  you  do."  He  said  that  some  people  who  de 
nounced  him  "spoke  as  if  I  were  dependent  on  this  office  for  my 
living.  I  see  it  stated  in  American  papers  that  the  American 
government  would  like  me  to  resign,  though  they  don't  care  to 


i42  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

take  the  responsibility  of  removing  me.  Of  course,  I  can't 
resign  under  fire.  In  fact,  when  I  want  to  go  home  I  don't 
quite  see  how  I  am  to  do  it.  The  government  won't  remove 
me;  and  I  won't  resign." 

He  said  that  the  social  pressure  upon  him  was  very  great; 
he  could  dine  out  nearly  every  day;  and  when  Professor  Child 
wrote  to  scold  him  awhile  ago  for  not  writing  any  more  to  his 
friends  at  home,  he  counted  his  notes  and  letters  for  that  very 
day  and  found  that  he  had  fifty  to  answer. 

I  told  him  that  I  was  proud  to  have  him  in  England,  but  in 
the  interests  of  literature  I  wanted  him  to  come  home  soon  — 
for  I  felt  sure  he  could  not  write  in  England.  He  said  he  could 
not.  He  thought  he  had  made  two  great  mistakes  in  his  life. 
One  was  in  taking  a  professorship,  that  had  drawn  him  away 
from  literary  production  to  certain  lines  of  special  research.  I 
understood  him  to  mean  that  he  would  have  written  more  poetry, 
would  have  been  more  of  a  creator  and  less  of  a  scholar,  if  he  had 
not  taken  the  professorship.  The  other  mistake  was  in  going 
as  minister  to  Spain.  He  had  hoped  to  see  and  know  Spain 
well  and  to  do  something  about  Don  Quixote.  He  had  great 
opportunities  there;  and  thought  he  had  got  ready  to  write 
about  Don  Quixote  but  could  not  till  he  went  home.  Of  course, 
his  coming  to  England  was  a  promotion,  was  very  delightful, 
personally,  but  it  took  away  all  command  of  his  time  and  he 
should  never  get  any  work  done  here. 

I  was  sorry  to  see  in  him  traces  of  distrust  of  his  own  country,  in 
this  way.  He  said:  "My  dear  Mr.  Tyler,  in  America  it  is  men 
like  you  who  have  not  the  least  influence.  The  country  is  ruled 
by  low  demagogues."  I  saw  too  that  he  must  have  surrendered 
somewhat  to  the  tone  of  English  aristocratic  society  —  in  his 
doubts  about  American  life,  and  in  his  opinion  of  men  and  things. 

We  chatted  about  Cornell  affairs,  Harvard,  English  univer 
sities,  etc.  He  said  that  his  preference  in  education  was  for 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  143 

the  old-fashioned  classical  training  —  such  as  our  American 
colleges  were  giving  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  spoke  very  cor 
dially  of  Cornell  University  and  said  that  he  was  buying  books 
for  his  own  library  with  both  Cornell  and  Harvard  in  his  thoughts; 
and  that  in  his  will  there  would  be  a  provision  giving  to  Har 
vard  such  of  the  books  as  it  lacked;  and  the  rest  to  Cornell. 

After  my  departure  from  Lowell's  I  went  to  the  C 's 

for  a  call;  and  returned  to  Parliament  House  by  seven.  I  was 
soon  met  by  Justin  McCarthy.  I  fear  I  must  hurry  over  his 
talk  —  much  of  which  was  very  interesting.  He  said  it  was  a 
bitter  time  for  him  as  an  Irish  member  to  be  in  Parliament; 
that  his  course  on  behalf  of  his  own  country  had  made  him 
many  personal  enemies  among  eminent  men  with  whom  he 
had  formerly  been  on  intimate  terms;  that  Gladstone  was  ex 
tremely  bitter  to  him  in  debate;  both  Gladstone  and  Bright 
would  no  longer  speak  to  him  if  they  met  him  in  the  street. 
In  general,  the  Irish  members  now  were  tabooed  socially. 

London,  29  June.  Several  days  ago  I  had  a  note  from  James 
Russell  Lowell  inviting  me  to  breakfast  with  him  at  ten  to-day, 
and  promising  to  invite  some  pleasant  friends  to  meet  me.  No 
compliment  could  have  been  more  marked,  since  he  called  to 
gether  some  of  the  most  famous  literary  men  in  England  ex 
pressly  to  meet  me.  Of  course  I  did  not  decline.  I  reached 
his  house,  No.  10  Lowndes  Square,  exactly  at  the  minute. 

I  was  most  interested  to  see  Froude,  Leslie  Stephen,  and 
Matthew  Arnold.  With  Froude  I  talked  a  good  deal,  a  gentle, 
clear,  winsome  man,  with  a  rich  voice  and  a  rich  conversation. 
He  spoke  warmly  of  his  American  friends,  but  talked  mostly 
of  the  Irish  trouble.  He  spoke  nobly,  said  the  English  for 
centuries  had  interfered  with  Ireland  only  for  the  woe  and  curse 
of  Ireland;  that  he  could  really  see  no  solution  of  the  trouble. 

Leslie  Stephen,  who  is  Thackeray's  son-in-law,  and  author 


144  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

of  a  great  book  on  the  eighteenth  century,  was  dressed  in  vel 
vet  morning  coat;  is  about  forty-five;  refined,  sensitive, hesitating; 
hair  parted  in  the  middle;  and  with  an  inclination  to  inspect  him 
self  in  the  looking-glass  which  happened  to  be  opposite  to  him. 
He  was  very  polite  to  me;  regretted  that  my  stay  in  London 
was  so  short;  wanted  me  to  let  him  know  when  I  came  again. 

Matthew  Arnold  was  the  great  lion  of  the  feast.  I  expected 
to  see  a  small,  finical  sort  of  a  man.  Instead  of  which  I  found 
a  tall,  athletic,  rugged  fellow,  in  splendid  health,  with  sonorous 
voice,  prompt  and  playful  in  speech,  with  an  air  of  conscious 
success,  dark  hair  and  complexion  and  eyes.  Lowell  seems 
very  fond  of  him.  I  had  not  much  chance  to  talk  with  him,  as  he 
had  to  go  early.  But  he  came  and  spoke  with  me  before  leaving 
and  expressed  a  great  desire  to  come  to  America.  I  had  to  de 
cline  the  hope  of  seeing  him  here,  as  this  is  my  last  real  day  in 
London.  If  I  were  to  let  myself  once  get  started  in  London 
engagements  I  should  not  get  away  till  August,  and  I  feel 
that  I  am  now  satisfied  with  London.  Have  got  enough  of  it; 
want  to  get  out  into  the  fresh  air,  to  see  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
and  Stratford,  and  especially  Paris  and  some  bits  of  Germany. 
I  left  Lowell's  at  twelve,  walking  away  with  Smalley.  He  in 
vited  me  to  dinner  at  his  house  to-morrow,  but  I  had  to  decline- 


Oxford,  i  July.  I  left  London  at  ten  this  morning,  reached 
Oxford  at  about  11.30,  and,  buying  a  small  guide  book,  spent  the 
day  in  wandering  about  in  this  most  mediaeval  city  that  I  have  yet 
been  in.  I  cannot  properly  describe  it  on  paper.  I  should  write 
a  guide  book  if  I  attempted  it.  I  sink  fatigued  under  the  weight 
of  the  impressive  and  most  beautiful  things  I  have  seen  —  ancient 
buildings,  cloisters,  quadrangles,  churches,  college  gardens; 
a  city  of  colleges  with  a  look  of  great  antiquity;  every  footstep 
falling  upon  a  reminiscence  of  some  great  man. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  145 

Three  letters  of  introduction  are  in  my  pocket  but  I  have 
presented  only  one,  to  the  librarian  of  the  Bodleian.  He  gave 
me  an  hour  of  his  time,  and  went  with  me  carefully  over  that 
famous  repository  of  books,  400,000  volumes.  I  lunched  with 
him  and  had  much  talk  about  Oxford.  I  shall  bring  home 
guide  books,  maps,  and  photographs  of  Oxford;  and  with  some 
such  illustrations  I  can  give  you  some  notion  of  it.  Without 
this,  I  cannot.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  in  detail  what  I  have  seen 
here,  it  would  be  for  you  a  mere  catalogue  of  names.  But  Ox 
ford  fills  the  bill!  Here  lecturing  is  housed  in  stately  magnifi 
cence.  I  should  like  to  take  up  my  residence  here  for  a  few 
weeks  and  sink  slowly  into  the  life  of  the  place.  In  one  particu 
lar  it  disappoints  me:  the  country  here  is  flat  and  low;  portions 
of  the  place  are  under  water  every  spring;  and  the  climate  is 
said  to  be  rather  relaxing  and  bilious.  It  was  a  sort  of  comfort 
to  hear  it  said  that  there  is  malaria  even  in  Oxford. 

5  Maid's  Causeway,  Cambridge,  5  July.  Isn't  this  a  funny 
place  to  be  in?  I  came  yesterday  to  Cambridge  and  took 
lodgings  in  this  house.  The  common  people  speak  a  peculiar 
English  here.  On  my  search  for  this  street  yesterday  I  met  a 
maid  pushing  a  perambulator,  and  thought  she  was  the  right 
person  to  ask  for  the  locality  of  the  Maid's  Causeway.  She 
replied,  "Go  straight  (pronounced  strite)  on,  and  you'll  find 
it  up."  This  is  a  queer  old  place,  not  so  majestic  and  impressive 
as  Oxford;  does  not  have  that  mediaeval  look.  Indeed,  the 
approach  into  the  town  is  through  a  quite  modern  street,  but 
some  of  the  names  of  old  streets  and  commons  here  are  very 
peculiar.  Besides  the  one  I  lodge  in,  is:  "Bandy  Leg  Walk," 
"Christ's  Place,"  and  "Jesus  Lane";  they  call  " Caius  College " 
"Keys";  "St.  Catherine"  is  "Cats";  "Magdalen"  is  "Maud 
lin."  I  find  so  much  to  see  and  learn  here  that  I  shall  probably 
stay  until  Friday  morning. 


i46  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Young  Mr.  ,  who  took  his  degree  in  June  at  St.  Peter's 

College,  is  spending  the  summer  here.  I  called  upon  him  the 
first  thing,  as  he  had  invited  me  to  lodge  in  the  college.  There 
was  some  technical  difficulty  about  it,  and  I  did  not  accept  the 
invitation.  After  lunch  he  came  to  see  me,  and  devoted  him 
self  to  my  entertainment  during  the  afternoon.  Young 

is  very  tall,  and  has  the  lumbering  ways  of  a  young  English 
man.  I  appreciated  his  kind  purpose  in  guiding  me  about,  but 
could  have  got  on  better  alone  with  my  map  and  guide  book. 
He  has  lived  here  three  years  and  does  not  seem  to  know  any 
thing  about  the  university  except  the  merest  trash.  I  found 
him  eminently  uninteresting  and  unprofitable  and  couldn't 
imagine  how  a  man  who  could  take  a  degree  here  could  have  so 
little  to  show  for  it. 

Cambridge,  6  July.  I  marched  forth  alone  this  morning  and 
began  with  the  beginning  of  the  guide  book  and  walked  steadily 
on,  house  by  house,  till  one  o'clock.  I  enjoyed  it  immensely. 
I  could  go  fast  or  slow  as  suited;  and  in  some  of  the  old  quad 
rangles  and  college  gardens  I  sat  a  good  while  and  took  in  the 
spirit  of  them.  The  two  colleges  which  impressed  me  most  are 
Queen's  and  King's.  The  former  has  some  buildings  of  the  fif 
teenth  century.  I  saw  the  tower  in  which  Erasmus  lived, 
and  the  walk  in  the  garden  between  the  rows  of  trees  which  was 
his  favorite  walk.  King's  College,  which  was  begun  in  the  fif 
teenth  century,  is  a  magnificent  college  in  lands,  gardens,  and 
buildings.  Its  chapel  is  the  great  architectural  pride  of  Cam 
bridge;  and  I  was  more  impressed  by  it  than  any  other  church 
I  have  yet  seen  in  England,  except  St.  Paul's.  I  went  into  the 
tower  and  upon  the  high  roof,  and  got  a  view  of  the  town  and 
the  country  about.  The  whole  region  is  flat,  indeed  mostly 
marshy  and  low;  and  the  people  have  suffered  for  ages  from 
fever  and  ague.  Within  the  last  fifty  years  the  marshes  have 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  147 

been  considerably  drained,  and  the  evil  has  greatly  diminished. 
Still,  I  am  told,  both  here  and  at  Oxford  the  site  is  so  low  that  it 
is  flooded  by  the  rivers  nearly  every  spring;  and  in  both  places 
many  people  find  the  climate  bilious  and  relaxing.  All  this 
seems  to  me  familiar  language  with  reference  to  a  university 
town. 

My  morning's  steady  walking  left  me  ready  to  have  a  snooze 
after  dinner  and  I  enjoyed  the  privilege  to  my  heart's  content. 
Then  I  pushed  out  alone  for  another  campaign  with  my  guide 
book;  and  at  five  went  to  dine  with  the  fellows  of  St.  Peter's 

College  in  their   hall.     The   senior   fellow   is   a   Mr.    D , 

who  had  sent  the  invitation    through   young .     He   was 

dressed  in  cap  and  gown;  and  with  him  was  the    chaplain, 

Mr.    A ,    in    ditto.     Each  of  these  colleges  has  its  own 

hall,  where  members  of  the  college  board;  the  students 
at  tables  along  the  length  of  the  room,  the  fellows  at  tables 
on  a  dais  at  the  end  of  the  hall  —  like  the  old  barons  and  their 
retainers.  All  are  in  gowns;  and  there  is  much  pomp  and  cere 
mony.  A  Latin  grace  before  meat  is  said  usually  by  one  of  the 
students;  or,  rather,  it  is  read  from  a  card  kept  for  the  purpose. 
Being  vacation,  the  hall  this  evening  had  but  few  in  it.  It  is 
a  stately  room,  hung  with  old  portraits  of  famous  graduates 
of  the  college.  After  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  combination 
room,  as  they  call  the  college  parlor.  This  is  also  in  every 
college  and  is  the  official  reception  room,  in  all  the  colleges 
limited  to  the  use  of  the  master  and  fellows,  and  fitted  and 
adorned  with  great  elegance.  This  room  at  St.  Peter's  is  a  grand 
affair,  about  four  centuries  old,  but  restored  in  recent  times, 
with  painted  windows,  elaborately  carved  wood-work,  etc.  In 
the  ancient  building  which  contains  this  room  and  above  the 

room  Mr.  D has  his  chambers.     He  took  us  through  them. 

Two  large  parlors  and  a  bedroom  with  quaint  passages  and 
old  closets,  constituted  his  suite.  Mr.  D is  a  Scotchman 


148  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

of  about  thirty.  I  could  understand  the  charm  of  this  life  of 
an  English  college  fellow.  Yet  with  all  its  dignity  and  repose, 
and  its  leisure  for  study,  the  fellows  have  not  been  contented; 
for  as  these  institutions  were  of  ecclesiastical  origin,  celibacy 
has  been  imposed  upon  the  fellows.  If  they  married  they  lost 
their  fellowships,  and  had  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  earn 
their  living.  Within  the  past  year,  by  act  of  Parliament,  this 
restriction  has  been  taken  off;  and  it  is  a  funny  fact  that  forty 
fellows  are  to  be  married  this  vacation.  There  is  great  mirth 
on  the  subject  in  Cambridge.  Poor  fellows!  Some  of  them 
have  been  engaged  five,  ten,  or  fifteen  years,  waiting  for  some 
other  promotion.  At  last  Parliament  comes  to  their  relief, 
and  to  the  relief  of  forty  long-suffering  damsels.  I  enjoyed 

talking  with  Mr.  D ,  sitting  in  that  ancient  college,  looking 

out  upon  its  exquisite  garden  —  a  place  seeming  too  peaceful 
for  this  stormy  world.  He  told  us  all  about  their  rules  and 
customs  and  methods,  and  I  peppered  him  with  many  questions. 

Cambridge,  8  July.  Up  at  6.30  this  morning,  breakfast  at 
7,  and  at  8.15  took  the  train  for  Ely,  where,  en  route  for  Coventry, 
I  wished  to  inspect  the  ancient  cathedral.  It  is  only  a  few  miles 
off.  The  road  goes  through  a  district  of  marshes  or,  rather,  of 
what  were  marshes,  but  has  been  reclaimed  by  drainage  and  is 
now  a  most  fertile  country,  lying  flat  like  an  Illinois  prairie; 
in  all  directions  windmills  waving  their  huge  arms  against  the 
sky.  I  left  my  bag  at  the  station  and  sauntered  at  leisure 
up  the  winding  streets  of  this  ancient  and  serene  old  town. 
Everything  looked  at  least  a  thousand  years  old.  I  have  drunk 
deep  of  the  sentiment  of  antiquity  here.  Words  cannot  tell 
how  venerable  it  seems;  this  spot  has  been  the  seat  of  a  nunnery 
and  a  church  since  at  least  the  seventh  century.  Here  are 
houses  still  used  by  ecclesiastics  connected  with  the  cathedral  — 
which  houses  were  parts  of  a  monastery  founded  by  King  Edgar 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  149 

in  970.  But  the  cathedral!  It  surpasses  all  I  have  yet  seen 
in  this  world  in  architectural  impressiveness.  Its  foundations 
were  laid  in  1083 ;  it  was  two  or  three  hundred  years  in  building; 
it  has  been  recently  restored;  and  it  is  a  magnificent  example 
of  mediaeval  genius,  reverence,  taste,  and  devout  magnificence. 

At  about  one  I  left  Ely  for  Peterboro,  the  seat  of  another 
cathedral,  but  inferior  to  this  of  Ely.  I  was  advised  that  an 
exterior  view  was  all  that  I  should  require,  and  that  I  took 
hastily  along  with  a  bite  of  veal  pie,  and  caught  the  next  train 
for  Coventry.  My  mind  was  too  full  of  the  cathedral  of  Ely 
to  be  tolerant  of  the  sight  of  any  other  cathedral;  and  by  com 
parison  that  of  Peterboro  seems  commonplace.  Soon  after 
leaving  Peterboro,  the  country  began  to  lose  its  level  look,  and 
to  grow  more  undulating;  and  by  the  time  we  got  into  Worces 
tershire  it  had  become  very  beautiful.  I  suppose  it  may  be  due 
to  the  glory  which  Shakespeare  sheds  upon  everything  with 
which  he  had  to  do;  but  this  his  native  country  seems  to  me 
the  most  delightful,  picturesque,  and  exhilarating  part  of  England. 

Although  Coventry  is  not  a  fashionable  resort,  it  is  a  most 
charming  old  nook,  with  a  good  deal  of  modern  improvement 
and  enterprise;  a  great  place  for  making  ribbons,  watches, 
and  bicycles  and  tricycles,  etc.  Its  goddess  is  Lady  Godiva, 
and  very  largely  on  her  account  and  Peeping  Tom's  I  decided  to 
make  this  my  resting  place  for  the  night.  There  are  two  images 
of  Peeping  Tom,  at  two  different  corner  hotels.  He  is  a  most 
villainous  looking  scoundrel  in  both  cases.  I  am  staying  at 
the  Craven  Arms  Inn,  a  delightful,  old  cosey  nest,  once  called 
the  White  Bear  —  and  looks  old  enough  to  have  accommodated 
Alfred  the  Great. 

Leamington,  9  July.  Last  night  I  slept  at  the  Craven  Arms, 
Coventry,  and  had  the  longest  and  best  sleep  I  remember  to 
have  had  in  years.  I  was  beautifully  hungry  and  tuckered  out; 


ISO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

and,  having  got  my  dinner,  I  went  to  bed  in  broad  daylight — i.  e., 
about  eight  o'clock  —  for  the  sun  here  is  not  down  by  that  time. 
Ah!  how  I  slept,  on  and  on  and  on,  till  nearly  eight  this  morning, 
a  deep,  soul-comforting  sleep,  and  got  up  feeling  as  fresh  as  a 
giant,  or  the  Biblical  bridegroom. 

I  took  two  or  three  hours  to  explore  the  town,  the  three  famous 
churches  with  those  tall  spires  that  Tennyson  wrote  of  in  his 
poem  of  Lady  Godiva;  and  especially  the  deeply  interesting 
St.  Mary's  Hall,  a  costly  edifice  built  four  hundred  years  ago 
by  the  guilds  of  the  town.  Here  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  was 
shut  up  for  a  week  or  two,  and  many  English  kings  and  queens 
have  been  entertained  in  it.  I  intended  to  walk  to  Kenil worth, 
but,  as  the  day  proved  rainy,  I  decided  to  come  by  rail  to  Leam 
ington,  take  lodgings  here,  and  make  this  a  centre  for  my  pedes 
trian  excursions  to  Kenilworth,  Warwick  Castle,  Stratford, 
etc.  Leamington  is  about  in  the  centre  between  all  these  places 
and  not  more  than  ten  miles  from  any  of  them.  I  got  here  at 
about  one,  and  after  getting  a  general  look  at  the  town  I  hunted 

up  lodgings,  where  I  now  write,  at  Miss 's,  12  Russell  Terrace. 

She  is  a  nice  old  maid;  her  house  is  as  still  as  Sunday  and  as 
clean  as  wax.  I  have  a  parlor  and  bedroom,  and  for  these  and 
attendance,  including  the  cooking  of  my  meals  and  the  blacking 
of  my  boots,  I  am  to  pay  the  outrageous  sum  of  nine  shillings 
per  week!  A  few  steps  off  is  the  Royal  Pump  Room,  where  for 
one  shilling  I  am  supplied  every  morning  with  a  pint  of  milk. 
Here  I  can  repose  for  a  week,  in  this  exhilarating  Warwickshire 
air,  and  make  myself  more  intimate  with  Shakespeare's  country. 
I  began  to  get  very  tired  of  London.  This  quiet  and  clean 
retreat  seems  very  restful.  The  air  and  water  and  walking  and 
sights  will  do  me  heaps  of  good  for  a  week. 

Leamington,  10  July.  It  occurred  to  me  last  night  that  I 
should  like  to  attend  church  to-day  where  Shakespeare  used  to 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  151 

worship  and  where  he  is  buried.  I  found  that  on  Sundays  there 
is  no  train  for  Stratford  until  eleven  o'clock.  So,  as  it  is  only 
ten  miles  off,  I  determined  to  go  afoot.  This  dear  old  maid, 
who  gives  me  my  cosey  home  for  nine  shillings  per  week,  promised 
to  have  my  breakfast  ready  by  half-past  seven.  I  was  up  an 
hour  earlier  and  at  the  Royal  Pump  Room  at  seven  to  try  the 
waters,  which  have  to  be  taken  before  breakfast.  First,  you 
swallow  half  a  pint;  then  walk  briskly  twenty  minutes;  then 
come  back  and  swallow  another  half  pint.  The  beverage  was 
administered  to  me  by  a  mild  old  gentleman  with  one  eye  and 
a  predisposition  to  slight  his  h's;  who  blended  with  the  potion 
much  semi-professional  advice.  I  had  my  breakfast  and  was 
off  at  just  ten  minutes  past  eight.  The  walk  lay  through  the 
ancient  town  of  Warwick,  two  miles  off,  and  past  the  walls 
of  Warwick  Castle;  and  all  the  way  is  one  of  the  most  famous 
walks  in  England.  The  road  is  macadamized  with  a  broad  side 
walk  of  hard  gravel;  is  lined  with  majestic  oaks  and  elms  and 
continuous  hedges;  with  charming  views  of  meadows,  forests, 
quaint  old  farm  cottages  with  their  thatched  roofs;  here  and 
there  a  noble  mansion  half  hidden  in  trees  and  far-away  stretches 
of  hill  country.  The  air  was  just  cool  enough;  the  sun  was 
bright  except  for  occasional  rain  clouds  veiling  it,  and  I  felt 
so  well  and  strong  that  the  walk  was  a  prolonged  joy.  It  is 
the  old,  old  road  between  Stratford  and  Warwick  Castle;  has 
been  there  since  the  time  of  Caesar,  and  very  likely  hundreds 
of  years  before;  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  often  Will 
Shakespeare  must  have  gone  back  and  forth  over  it,  on  foot, 
perhaps  in  his  father's  butcher's  cart,  and  later  in  his  own  pros 
perous  chariot. 

Just  at  10:30  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  church  bells  in  Strat 
ford;  and,  tramping  into  the  town  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
I  walked  straight  to  the  old  parish  church  just  as  the  curate 
was  reading  the  second  lesson.  It  is  a  large  church,  noble 


152  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

in  look,  its  great  tower  dating  as  far  back  as  the  twelfth  century. 
The  chancel,  in  which  the  poet  is  buried,  belongs  to  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  nave,  older  than  the  chancel,  is  substantially 
unchanged  since  Shakespeare's  time.  It  is  lofty  and  large, 
and  here  again  —  as  everywhere  else  that  I  have  been  —  it 
was  full  of  worshippers,  who  took  an  earnest  and  hearty  part 
in  the  service.  I  looked  curiously  about  the  congregation  to 
see  what  they  were  like,  and  found  them  a  wholesome,  thrifty 
people,  but  plain,  not  specially  intellectual;  rather  like  well- 
fed  country  folk  and  trading  villagers.  As  I  entered  the  town 
I  looked  with  interest  at  the  children  by  the  way,  thinking  that 
in  each  I  saw  a  young  William  Shakespeare  —  or  what  he  was 
like  at  the  same  age.  Almost  the  first  one  I  thus  looked  at  re 
sented  my  admiration  by  making  saucy  faces  at  me,  a  touch 
of  nature  that  gave  me  a  sense  of  kinship.  At  church  it  was 
delightful  to  feel  immediately  at  home  in  the  rendering  by  stran 
gers  of  the  noble  service  of  common  prayer;  and  to  be  able 
to  drop  into  my  place  and  to  adjust  myself  to  the  situation  as 
easily  as  if  I  had  always  lived  there.  After  church  I  lingered 
to  look  around  the  edifice,  and  soon  saw  half  a  dozen  obvious 
Americans  doing  the  same  thing.  The  vicar  courteously  in 
vited  me  to  enter  the  chancel;  and  I  stood  for  the  first  time  upon 
the  grave  of  Shakespeare,  with  its  marble  curse  against  disturb 
ance,  and  beneath  that  bust  which  is  the  most  authentic  image 
of  him  which  we  have.  I  shall  not  try  to  describe  my  awe. 
Leaving  the  church,  I  wandered  at  my  leisure  round  the  little 
city,  taking  in  its  features,  especially  going  slowly  by  the  poet's 
birthplace,  his  old  school-house,  and  the  place  where  he  died. 
Just  opposite  the  latter  is  the  ancient  Falcon  Inn,  where  he 
is  said  to  have  been  fond  of  sitting  with  his  friends  and  neigh 
bors,  and  there  I  went  for  dinner.  I  waited  for  dinner  in  the 
smoking  room,  and  dined  in  the  coffee  room  upstairs.  To  the 
former  I  returned  and  snoozed  and  rested  in  one  of  the  old 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  153 

chairs  close  by  the  window  which  opens  toward  Shakespeare's 
home  just  across  the  narrow  street.  Where  I  sat  unquestion 
ably  he  had  sat  and  smoked  and  drank  ale  hundreds  of  times. 
I  must  leave  you  to  imagine  the  sentiment  of  all  this. 

After  a  good  rest  I  sauntered  out  and  walked  slowly 
around  the  principal  streets  again;  looked  through  the  fence 
upon  Shakespeare's  garden;  and  by  the  old  lane  along  which 
he  must  have  walked,  I  went  down  to  the  Avon,  a  little  way 
back  of  his  home.  I  found  a  quiet  place  close  by  the  shore,  and, 
being  tired,  there  I  lay  down  for  an  hour,  watching  the  river 
and  the  lovely  low  meadow  on  the  side  of  it,  and  up  the  river 
through  the  arches  of  the  old  stone  bridge  that  most  picturesquely 
spans  the  Avon  —  a  bridge  built  in  the  fifteenth  century.  Many 
a  time  he  must  have  come  to  that  same  quiet  spot  and  found 
rest  for  body  and  soul  there.  And  the  river  is  very  peaceful; 
not  wider  than  the  Huron,  but  deeper,  and  slower  in  movement; 
not  a  "silvery  river,"  as  Mary  Cowden  Clarke  calls  it,  but  turbid, 
even  dull  and  muddy.  Yet  it  is  the  Avon.  And  an  odd  thing 
happened  to  me  there.  While  I  lay,  resting  my  head  on  my 
right  hand  and  looking  dreamily  out  of  half-shut  eyes  along  the 
river  up  under  those  arches  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
me,  and  was  thinking  of  the  poet's  identification  with  this 
little  river,  and  how  he  was  called  "the  sweet  Swan  of  Avon"  — 
suddenly,  away  off  beyond  those  arches,  I  saw  a  graceful  white 
swan  sail  out  into  the  river,  and  stop  there  in  the  right  place,  and 
then  one  more;  not  a  duck,  mind  you,  nor  a  goose,  but  a 
genuine  white  swan;  yea,  brethren  and  sisters,  and  two  of 
them.  How  is  that  for  a  coincidence? 

After  a  while  I  got  up  and  wandered  slowly  in  the  old  church 
yard,  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  mossy  gravestones,  and 
finding  the  Burbages,  and  Ardens,  and  other  Shakespearean 
names.  Most  visitors  rush  through  this  place,  get  a  few  glimpses, 
and  run.  I  enjoy  the  leisurely  way  in  which  I  am  doing  it. 


154  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  don't  expect  to  see  all  to-day,  but  to  take  in  the  situation  and 
come  again  several  times  during  my  stay  in  the  neighborhood. 
So  I  can  let  the  feeling  of  the  place  soak  in  and  fructify. 

At  seven  o'clock  I  took  a  train  back  to  Leamington.  My 
gentle  old  maid  welcomed  me  home  to  a  nice,  hearty  supper  of 
mutton  chops,  and  brown  bread  and  fresh  milk  —  real  War 
wickshire  milk  and  butter  —  and  I  went  early  to  bed  and  rested 
eleven  good  hours.  Amen  and  encore. 

Leamington,  12  July.  After  a  couple  of  hours  spent  in  writing, 
I  started  out  on  my  day's  tramp,  which  was  devoted  to  Warwick 
Castle  and  the  old  town  near  it.  It  lies  only  two  miles  from 
Leamington.  I  took  the  old  road  as  it  is  called,  winding  through 
trees  lined  with  houses,  broad  and  clean,  with  a  good  sidewalk 
and  frequent  benches  for  pedestrians.  Within  half  a  mile  of 
the  castle  I  caught  a  good  view  of  its  huge  baronial  towers 
rising  grimly  on  a  height  above  the  tops  of  the  trees  and  looking 
down  on  the  Avon,  which  washes  the  rocks  at  the  base  of  the 
castle.  It  fully  realized  my  conception  of  what  the  castle  of 
the  great  king-maker,  Warwick,  should  be.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  sights  of  England,  and  thousands  of  tourists  visit  it  every 
year.  I  imagine  that  there  are  not  many  mediaeval  castles  in 
England  that  are  kept  up  in  good  preservation.  The  present 
earl  is  immensely  rich,  and  resides  here  several  months  in  the 
year.  During  such  times  strangers  are  not  admitted.  But 
when  he  and  his  family  are  away  it  is  a  regular  show  business, 
and  the  servants  must  derive  a  fine  income  from  the  fees  re 
ceived  from  the  throng  of  visitors.  A  large  party  had  gone  in 
just  ahead  of  me,  but  the  porter  at  the  lodge  told  me  that  if 
I  would  hurry  up  I  could  overtake  them.  I  advanced  rapidly 
through  several  rods  of  road  cut  through  the  rock  —  along  which 
kings  and  queens  and  barons  and  squatter  sovereigns  have  walked. 
At  the  end  of  this  I  came  out  upon  a  lawn.  At  my  left  was  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  155 

old  Caesar's  tower,  beneath  which  was  and  is  the  dungeon.  In 
front  and  at  my  right  were  arranged  several  huge  structures 
of  solid  stone  —  looking  for  all  the  world  just  like  the  baronial 
castles  in  picture  books.  Not  being  much  accustomed  to  such 
places,  I  didn't  know  exactly  which  way  to  go.  I  saw  no  one, 
except  a  majestic  person  in  a  front  window,  whom  I  should  have 
taken  for  the  earl  himself  if  I  had  not  known  he  was  away  from 
home.  So  I  again  advanced  in  an  unabashed  American  manner 
to  the  door  nearest  the  majestic  person,  who  came  before  I 
could  ring,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  the  door  porter.  It  is 
seldom,  perhaps,  that  even  college  professors  have  so  wise  a 
look.  He  invited  me  in,  dMn't  say  anything  about  the  earl 
being  sorry  that  he  was  not  there  to  give  me  the  hospitalities 
of  the  castle,  but  repeated  the  injunction  to  hurry  up,  which  I 
did.  A  party  —  largely  of  Americans  —  was  soon  overtaken, 
guided  by  a  young  woman  with  a  wand  in  her  hand,  with  which 
she  pointed  at  tables,  chairs,  pictures,  busts,  etc.,  etc.,  and  "re 
cited  her  piece.  Tourists  are  only  shoVn  the  rooms  of  state, 
not  the  private  and  domestic  apartments  of  the  house;  but 
what  we  saw  was  literally  magnificent  for  cost,  beauty,  and  his 
torical  associations  —  e.  g.,  the  superb  bedroom  in  which  Queen 
Anne  slept,  with  the  very  bed,  and  even  her  travelling 
trunk.  Perhaps  the  latter  may  have  been  detained  to  pay 
for  lodgings,  but  it  was  riot.  As  I  had  not  been  shown  the  first 
two  rooms,  the  countess  or  duchess  who  guided  the  party  kindly 
invited  me  to  stop  after  the  crowd  had  gone  to  have  a  nice,  quiet 
time  with  her  alone.  I  accepted  her  invitation  and  we  two 
wandered  through  those  two  rooms  in  a  chatty  and  leisurely 
way,  and  I  rewarded  her  with  two  sixpences  on  saying  adieu. 
She  took  them  like  a  person  not  in  the  least  embarrassed  by  a 
pecuniary  recognition  of  her  courtesy.  I  wanted  to  get  a  look 
into  the  dungeon,  but  it  was  too  late  in  the  day.  The  fellow 
had  gone  who  exhibits  that  side-show.  So  by  suggestion  of 


156  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

my  fair  countess  I  walked  out  into  the  park  and  saw  the  earPs 
garden  patch,  also  his  conservatory,  in  which  is  kept  the  great 
Warwick  vase,  about  three  thousand  years  old  (fact).  He 
has  a  thousand  acres  for  his  park  and  owns  vast  tracts  of  lands 
and  houses  all  about.  The  scene  was  stately  and  remarkably 
English. 

The  old  city  of  Warwick  has  grown  up  during  many  centuries 
by  the  side  of  the  castle.  It  has  a  stony,  dignified  look;  crooked, 
with  all  sorts  of  gables  and  fronts  and  porches,  etc.  Remember 
ing  that  this  was  the  birthplace  of  Walter  Savage  Landor, 
I  made  some  inquiries  about  his  houses;  but  no  one  had  ever 
heard  of  him.  Two  houses  were  pointed  out  to  me  as  having 
been  occupied  by  the  Landor  family. 

Leamington,  13  July.  This  had  been  another  Shakespeare 
day.  I  went  over  to  Stratford  this  morning  and  saw  the  inside 
of  houses  that  on  Sunday  I  had  seen  only  on  the  outside,  the 
Birth  Place,  the  Free  School,  the  house  at  New  Place,  besides 
spending  a  long  time  in  the  church  near  his  tomb  and  image. 
The  parish  clerk  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  with  me  and  showed 
me  the  parish  records  containing  the  entry  of  Shakespeare's 
baptism  in  1564,  and  of  his  funeral,  in  1616.  The  effigy  or 
bust  at  the  tomb  is  much  better  than  I  expected  from  the  pic 
tures  of  it,  and  gives  me  an  idea  of  the  solidity  and  power  of 
the  man.  After  seeing  all  these  things  at  my  leisure,  I  walked 
out  to  Shottery,  where  still  stands  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage; 
and  I  went  and  came  over  the  same  path  through  the  fields  along 
which  the  young  poet  went  hundreds  of  times  in  the  days  and 
nights  of  his  courting.  The  cottage  is  in  a  little  hamlet  of 
quaint  and  antique  homes;  and  the  country  about  is  lovely  with 
verdure  and  the  abundance  of  trees  and  a  quiet  pastoral  beauty, 
but  would  not  be  celebrated  except  for  the  celebrity  given  it 
by  the  wondrous  man.  As  I  could  not  on  account  of  the  rain  go 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  157 

out  to  Charlecote  —  the  seat  of  the  Lucy  family  and  of  Shake 
speare's  alleged  exploit  in  deer  stealing  —  I  took  in-door  amuse 
ment  in  Stratford.  I  had  found  on  the  lists  of  voters  for  this  year 
the  name  of  William  Shakespeare;  and  it  occurred  to  me  that 
I  would  call  upon  him  and  have  a  talk  with  him.  I  found 
that  he  lived  in  Wood  street,  near  the  Henley  street  in  which 
the  great  William  was  born;  that  he  was  a  humble  shoemaker, 
and  kept  there  a  small  shop.  I  went  in  to  buy  a  box  of  blacking 
as  an  excuse;  was  waited  upon  by  a  little  girl;  presently  came 
in  the  proprietor  —  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  large  eyes  and 
lips,  of  medium  size,  and  a  plain,  uncultivated  face.  This  was 
William  Shakespeare  of  Stratford-on-Avon  in  1882.  He  seemed 
very  willing  to  talk  and  I  put  him  through  a  thorough  catechism. 
It  seems  that  he  belongs  to  the  Shakespeares  of  Henley-in-Arden, 
a  few  miles  away.  He  said  there  were  a  good  many  Shakespeares 
in  the  county;  one  other  man  in  Stratford,  who  is  a  tailor  and 
not  a  voter;  one  in  Henley,  who  is  a  barber;  and  he  remembers 
one  —  his  cousin  —  who  lived  at  Henley  as  a  young  man,  but 
fell  into  bad  company  and  got  to  shooting  rabbits  belonging  to 
the  lord  of  the  manor,  and  in  consequence  of  this  had  to  leave 
the  place  for  several  years.  He  is  now  in  America.  How  like 
that  is  to  the  deer-stealing  legend  of  William  Shakespeare  and 
his  enforced  withdrawal  from  Stratford.  I  found  William  Shake 
speare  to  be  a  dull,  illiterate,  but  religious,  man,  a  Congregational- 
ist,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  never  read  any  of  the  writings 
of  his  great  predecessor  and  did  not  even  have  a  copy  of  them. 
He  supposed  they  were  very  good;  he  had  often  been  urged  to 
buy  them;  but  he  already  took  three  religious  papers. 

I  had  much  other  talk  with  him,  and  the  contrast  between 
this  poor,  stupid  William  Shakespeare  and  the  man  who  has  made 
the  name  and  place  immortal  amused  me  as  most  startling  and 
grotesque.  He  said  he  supposed  "the  poetry  had  all  run  out 
of  the  family,"  and  I  thought  he  was  right. 


158  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  15  July.  I  came  up  to  London  day  before  yesterday. 
This  has  been  a  day  for  doing  a  lot  of  odd  jobs  in  town  in  prepa 
ration  for  leaving  for  the  continent  next  week.  One  job  was 
to  take  a  good  look  at  the  library  of  the  British  Museum,  partly 
for  the  sake  of  old  times  and  memories,  but  chiefly  with  a  view 
of  ascertaining  how  much  they  have  in  Americana  that  I  shall 
need  before  finishing  my  third  volume.  For  though  I  took  my 
lodgings  near  the  museum,  I  have  had  such  a  disinclination  to 
touch  or  look  at  books  that  I  have  not  once  been  in  since  I  came 
to  town.  My  letter  was  to  Mr.  Bullen,  the  second  highest 
officer  in  the  library.  In  the  old  days  I  had  never  sought  any 
introductions  to  the  officers,  and  had  never  taken  a  look  in  the 
rooms  behind  or  around  the  great  circular  reading  rooms.  To 
day  my  letter  admitted  me  to  all  those  mysteries.  Mr.  Bullen 
received  me  behind  all  those  intrenchments,  and  after  some 
chat  gave  me  in  charge  of  a  lieutenant  who  was  to  show  me  all 
over  the  place  from  top  to  bottom.  The  library  numbers  now 
a  million  and  a  quarter  of  volumes,  and  increases  at  the  rate 
of  forty  thousand  volumes  per  year.  It  is  a  monster  to  manage. 
I  was  much  interested  to  see  how  they  do  it;  and  thought  their 
methods  were  not  in  all  respects  equal  to  those  at  Harvard. 
My  deepest  interest  was  in  the  old  reading  room  where  I  spent 
so  many  weeks  and  months.  The  old  place  did  not  seem  to 
have  changed  at  all.  I  was  told  that  there  were  sittings  for  about 
as  many  more  readers,  but  this  made  no  noticeable  difference 
in  its  appearance.  After  a  good  look  about,  I  went  to  the  great 
volumes  of  the  catalogue,  and  looked  out  a  number  of  test 
names  in  Americana,  not  finding  much  that  I  could  not  get  in 
America,  perhaps  nothing.  However,  my  inspection  was  not 
exhaustive.  The  chief  officer  in  the  room  greeted  me  very 
cordially,  saying  that  he  had  heard  that  I  was  coming,  and  had 
been  on  the  lookout  for  me  for  several  weeks.  He  and  the 
officers  offered  me  every  possible  privilege  when  I  should  get 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  159 

ready  to  come  there  for  work  —  if  I  need  to  do  so.  It  rather 
gratified  me  to  find  four  pages  of  the  catalogue  devoted  to 
my  name,  with  spaces  left  for  future  insertions.  They  have 
two  copies  of  the  American  literature  and  several  pamphlets 
of  mine. 

Another  thing  that  I  had  put  off  to  a  more  convenient  season 
was  a  visit  to  Westminster  Abbey.  On  the  way  there  I  took 
a  look  at  St.  Stephen's  Chapel  in  Westminster  Hall,  a  very 
ancient  crypt  which  has  been  gorgeously  restored  since  I  was 
in  England  before.  It  is  very  beautiful  and  interesting.  On 
entering  the  Abbey  I  found  the  east  transept  filled  with  people 
and  the  usual  daily  three  o'clock  service  going  on.  I  sat  down 
and  rested  awhile,  listening  to  the  delicious  music  with  which 
the  service  is  rendered  in  that  noble  place.  I  also  saw  and  heard 
Canon  Farrar  reading  the  lessons;  and  in  my  great  comfort 
I  sank  into  a  gentle  nap  which  much  refreshed  me.  After 
the  service  I  went  systematically  over  the  whole  Abbey  exclu 
sive  of  the  chapels  —  that  is,  I  visited  the  portion  to  which  the 
public  are  admitted  without  the  guide  nuisance.  I  devoted 
myself  to  the  more  famous  tombs  and  monuments,  and  to  the 
restorations  of  the  Abbey,  the  superb  painted  windows,  and  to 
a  contemplation  of  the  general  effect  of  the  whole  interior  as  a 
magnificent  piece  of  church  architecture.  In  the  latter  respect 
it  impressed  me  deeply.  It  is  like  the  infinite  sky  in  its  sugges 
tion  of  immensity  and  of  aspiration,  to  say  nothing  of  the  power 
of  mere  age  —  venerableness  —  in  awing  us.  As  a  repository 
of  famous  dead  men  it  touched  me  less  than  it  used  to  do. 
And,  indeed,  I  find  that  I  am  in  many  ways  less  impressionable 
than  I  was  sixteen  years  ago.  England  does  not  seem  to  me 
such  a  garden,  such  a  paradise  of  rural  beauty,  as  it  did;  and  the 
haughtiness  of  London,  its  pomp,  wealth,  splendor,  great  palaces, 
and  all  that,  do  not  weigh  upon  me  —  intimidate  me  as  formerly. 
I  think  I  like  England  as  well  perhaps.  Certainly  I  respect  its 


160  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  ] 

wonderful  civilization,  so  complex,  elaborate,  careful,  solid, 
comfortable;  but  I  do  not  any  more  lose  my  heart  to  it,  or  my 
head;  both  these  organs  find  their  great  satisfaction  in  America. 
I  am  cured  of  all  lingering  desire  to  live  here. 


Paris,  19  July.  Here  I  am  at  last  in  this  splendid  city, 
after  all  these  years  of  wondering  whether  it  would  ever  be. 
I  was  up  this  morning  between  five  and  six  to  finish  my  jottings 
on  England  and  to  pack  up.  I  went  to  the  Victoria  Station  in 
ample  time  to  get  my  larger  bag  registered  through  to  Paris, 
whereby  it  escapes  customs  examination  at  Dieppe,  but  receives 
that  impertinence  all  the  same  at  Paris.  I  have  enjoyed  with 
great  zest  the  journey  from  London.  I  was  completely  sated 
with  England  and  longed  for  a  change  of  scene.  The  journey 
from  London  to  Dieppe  took  from  eight  to  eleven,  and  I  enjoyed 
it  very  much.  On  the  channel  all  that  I  felt  was  a  sort  of  unusual 
solemnity,  with  a  strong  desire  to  lie  down  and  sleep.  I  stretched 
myself  out  on  a  piece  of  canvas  on  deck,  and  slept  like  a  boiled 
lobster  for  more  than  two  hours.  When  I  began  it,  the  English 
shore  was  almost  out  of  sight,  and  land  was  nowhere  else  to  be 
seen,  and  when  I  woke  up  the  shore  of  France  was  in  sight.  As 
we  drew  near  Dieppe,  and  sailed  up  into  its  green  and  winding 
basin  of  a  harbor,  all  was  so  different!  I  felt  that  here  was  a 
new  world.  The  shock  of  complete  change  from  England  which 
I  desired  was  granted  to  me.  The  docks,  houses,  shops,  people, 
costumes  —  all  were  so  funny,  so  Frenchy,  so  picture-bookish. 
We  were  set  on  shore  near  the  railroad  station.  The  runners 
for  the  hotels  shouted  and  gesticulated  wildly,  but  with  so  much 
dramatic  and  Frenchy  liveliness  that  I  could  have  believed  them 
doing  it  to  hit  off  the  French  by  a  capital  imitation.  Little 
girls  and  women  came  to  sell  us  fruit,  and  they  spoke  some  Eng 
lish;  they  were  plain  in  dress  and  face,  but  such  manners,  such 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  161 

enticing  smiles,  such  vivacity!  Indeed,  I  am  already  delighted 
with  the  renowned  politeness  and  grace  of  this  people  —  such 
amiability,  good  humor,  facility!  So  unlike  the  stolid  English. 
How  they  brighten  up  life  and  make  even  common  things  pretty 
and  charming.  The  train  started  out  a  little  after  four,  and 
reached  Paris  in  about  four  hours.  The  view  of'  Rouen  was 
fine;  and  all  along,  especially  through  Normandy,  I  was  gazing 
out  at  the  picturesque  scenery  —  the  Frenchy  houses,  and  all 
the  queer  and  pretty  combinations  of  effect  in  their  villages 
and  farms.  I  did  not  take  a  carriage  from  the  station,  but  having 
the  address  of  the  hotel  found  my  way  to  it  easily.  I  have  taken 
a  little  walk  along  the  Paris  boulevards.  Oh,  what  Frenchy 
fun!  I  never  saw  in  this  world  such  a  population  of  gay,  light- 
hearted,  affable,  chattering,  elegant  children  in  the  shape  of 
men  and  women.  Thousands  of  them  sitting  out  at  little  tables 
on  the  sidewalks,  drinking,  smoking,  laughing  —  having  a 
Parisian  time;  a  whole  family,  father,  mother,  children  dining 
out  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  their  own  shop  at  half-past 
nine  o'clock  at  night,  while  ten  thousand  persons  pass  and  take 
no  notice  of  them.  Ah,  this  Paris!  I  am  elated  with  it  already 
to-night.  This  is  a  brand-new  thing  in  my  life,  and  eclipses 
anything  in  the  way  of  lightness  and  splendor  and  metropolitan 
fascination  I  ever  met  in  the  world.  I  can  begin  to  understand 
why  Americans  flock  here  and  stay;  and  how  dull  and  sad 
London  seems  to  them  by  comparison. 

Paris,  41  Rue  de  V Arcade,  20  July.  I  slept  very  comfortably 
last  night  at  the  hotel,  but  immediately  after  breakfast  I  went 
out  to  find  lodgings.  All  Paris  seems  a  louer;  and  tickets 
of  "Appartements  meubtes  a  louer  presentement"  met  me  at 
almost  every  step.  I  had  discovered  last  night  that  it  was  not 
common  away  from  the  few  English  hotels  to  find  English  spoken 
or  understood;  and  my  plunge  into  the  business  of  finding 


162  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

lodgkigs  confirmed  this  discovery.  No  one  at  any  place  where 
I  called  could  understand  English;  and  not  a  soul  of  them  knew 
enough  to  speak  French  in  such  a  manner  that  I  could  under 
stand  it.  I  was  able  to  form  a  French  sentence  sufficient  for 
my  purpose  and  for  theirs;  but  my  trouble  came  when  they 
began  to  reply.  It  was  such  a  torrent  of  rattle  and  roll;  and 
in  proportion  as  I  looked  nonplussed  the  faster  and  louder  did 
they  jabber.  All  this  made  me  feel  my  personal  isolation  more 
than  I  have  felt  it  since  I  left  home;  and  I  determined  to  go 
at  once  to  the  pension  kept  by  Madame  Jounneau  and  so 
highly  recommended  to  me.  It  was  not  far  off.  I  found  her 
at  home,  and  the  sight  and  sound  of  her  were  an  unspeakable 
comfort.  A  woman  of  about  fifty,  slightly  gray,  refined,  lady 
like,  with  a  good,  motherly  look  and  French  politeness,  speaking 
exquisite  English.  She  welcomed  me  cordially  on  Professor 

ys  letter;  showed  me  a  room  in  the  very  top  of  the  house, 

which  I  decided  at  once  to  take.  I  pay  for  room,  board,  and 
attendance,  all  without  extras,  $8.50  per  week  —  cheaper 
than  I  could  live  with  such  board  in  Boston  or  New  York  or 
Ithaca.  She  was  a  godsend  to  me;  so  benignant  and  gentle; 
a  model  French  lady.  I  needed  to  get  a  lot  of  information  about 
how  to  proceed,  and  she  told  me  everything  clearly.  At  once 
I  brought  my  bag  from  the  hotel  and  my  larger  bag  from  the 
station,  where  it  had  to  be  inspected  by  the  customs  officers; 
and  at  last  I  could  unpack  them  in  my  little  sky  chamber  in 
the  midst  of  Paris.  All  this  took  till  eleven.  I  felt  rather  glad 
to  sit  down  and  write  a  few  letters  till  dejeuner,  which  comes  at 
half-past  twelve.  I  found  it  a  hearty  noon  meal,  with  several 
courses  of  meat  and  fruit  and  vegetables,  with  delicious  claret 
ad  libitum  standing  near  you  to  be  taken  by  every  one,  as  milk 
is  in  a  farm  house  in  America. 

After  this  repast,  which  I  greatly  relished,  I  set  out  on  my 
first  daylight  tour  of  exploration  in  Paris.    I  felt  like  a  hungry 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  163 

boy  with  an  infinity  of  gingerbread  before  him  and  plenty  of 
time  to  eat  it.  Near  the  Madeleine  is  a  centre  for  'busses,  and 
there  I  took  one  for  Passy,  which  a  hundred  years  ago  was  a 
quiet  village  in  the  country,  but  is  now  a  part  of  the  city.  There 
Franklin  lived,  and  John  Adams.  It  lies  on  high  ground,  and 
the  drive  thither  and  back  was  along  delightful  roads  and  streets. 
At  Passy  I  walked  awhile,  and  wandered  into  the  outskirts  of 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  but  it  had  grown  dark,  and  I  enjoyed 
sitting  in  the  sweet,  cool  air,  and  hearing  the  people  merrily 
chatting  as  they  passed  by.  The  sight  on  the  return  was  grand, 
riding  amid  long  lines  of  trees,  along  a  height  overlooking  the 
Seine  and  the  myriad  lights  of  the  city,  mile  after  mile  of  splendor 
and  gayety.  The  French,  too,  are  so  delightful;  never  surly 
or  dull;  always  so  good  humored  and  light  hearted;  and  if 
you  chance  to  do  them  a  courtesy  they  acknowledge  it  with  a 
grace  and  affability  that  make  you  feel  good  for  hours  afterward. 
Thus  in  this  homeward  trip  on  top  of  the  tram-car  a  party  of 
two  gentlemen  and  a  lady  came  up.  There  was  not  room  for 
them  all  to  sit  together;  but  two  sat  on  one  side  of  me  and  one 
on  the  other.  Observing  this,  I  offered  to  move  and  give  the 
third  room  by  the  other  two.  Ah!  you  should  have  seen  their 
recognitions  of  it.  Their  hats  rose,  they  bowed  to  me,  and  the 
"Merci,  Monsieur!"  from  all  of  them  made  the  surrounding 
regions  musical;  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a  great  hero,  a  benefactor 
of  the  human  race,  and  that  these  three  people  were  vividly 
conscious  of  it. 

Paris,  26  July.  I  must  not  forget  to  say  that  I  spent  this 
afternoon  at  least  an  hour  in  visiting  the  Palace  of  Justice  near 
Notre  Dame.  I  went  into  several  of  the  higher  city  courts, 
heard  advocates  pleading,  and  watched  the  proceedings.  In 
the  halls  outside  the  court  rooms  the  advocates  in  their  silk 
robes  and  elegant  square  caps  were  walking  up  and  down.  Their 


164  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

professional  costume  is  more  elegant  than  that  of  the  English 
barristers.  The  courts  are  very  dignified,  and  the  rooms  are 
almost  gorgeous  with  frescoes  and  paintings.  I  noticed  also 
that  hi  each  court  room,  above  and  back  of  the  judges,  was  a 
large  painting  of  the  crucifixion. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  the  Hippodrome.  This  is  one  of 
the  great  sights  of  modern  Paris;  the  most  enormous  assembly 
room  that  I  ever  saw;  a  gigantic  stationary  circus,  capable  of 
holding  ten  thousand  people.  Everything  was  perfect,  even  the 
indecency,  of  which  there  was  the  usual  French  proportion.  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  French  people,  with  all 
their  refinement,  have  little  real  modesty  or  delicacy.  That 
is  too  sweeping  a  remark,  perhaps,  but  with  some  qualifications 
it  is  not  far  from  the  truth.  I  never  saw  anything  so  laughably 
shameless  as  some  of  the  performances  were;  and  besides  these 
were  specimens  of  superlative  acrobatics,  equestrianism,  etc. 
Still  I  did  think  of  the  hippodromes  of  Rome  in  the  ages  of 
rottenness  and  decay. 

Paris,  27  July.  I  took  a  rather  late  breakfast  this  morning, 
and,  after  some  writing,  walked  out  to  the  American  legation, 
more  than  a  mile  off,  and  got  there  Mr.  Morton's  personal  cards 
for  admission  to  the  Chambre  des  Deputes,  and  the  Senat.  I 
had  been  told  that  it  is  very  hard  to  get  in;  but  these  cards 
fortunately  overcame  all  difficulties.  By  half-past  one  I  was 
crossing  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde,  and  found  soldiers  and  citizens 
in  the  court  leading  to  the  entrance  to  the  Chambre.  The 
building  is  an  old  palace  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  built  early  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  was  used  in  the  Revolution  by  the 
Council  of  Five  Hundred,  and  during  the  present  century  has 
become  the  classic  place  for  the  French  Deputies,  or  Lower 
House.  It  is  odd  that  the  Upper  House,  or  Senate,  should 
meet  in  a  house  more  than  a  mile  distant,  at  the  Palace 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  165 

of  Luxembourg.     My  card  passed  me  rapidly  from  sentinel  to 
sentinel,  till   I  was   shown   into   the   Diplomatic  gallery,    the 
best  place  in  the  house   for   witnessing    the   proceedings.     It 
will  hold  about  five  hundred  members,  and  there  are  two  tiers 
of  galleries  for  non-members.    The  walls  and  ceilings  are  richly 
decorated;  the  room  is  made  elegant  with  paintings  and  statues. 
The  platform  in  front  rises  like  a  high  scaffold,  by  a  series  of 
stages,  and  at  the  topmost  is  the  speaker's  chair  and  desk.     Just 
in  front  of  him,  but  lower,  is  the  platform  called  the  Tribune,  to 
which  every  member  comes  when  he  wishes  to  speak  or  even  to 
make  a  motion.     All  around  are  secretaries  and  stenographers. 
In  the  circular  seats  in  front  are  the   ministers;  to  the  right 
of  the  speaker  are  the  conservative  members,  such  as  the  Or- 
leanists,  Legitimists,  and    Bonapartists;  in  the  middle  are  the 
moderates;  and  toward  the  left,  the  radicals.     By  the  time  I 
had  taken  in  the  situation  the  members  began  to  come  in.     At 
two,  a  bugle  sounded;  an  official  cried,    "Monsieur  le  Presi 
dent  !"  and  that  official  entered  and  ascended  to  his  throne. 
There  was  much  noise  and  chatter;  no  prayer;  and  routine 
business  went  on  almost  inaudibly.     Soon  came  speeches  by 
ministers  in  reply  to  questions.    The  most  famous  speaker  was 
Jules  Ferry,  who    spoke  wittily  and  adroitly,  and    repeatedly 
brought  down  the  house.     I  was  interested  to  see  and  hear 
Freycinct,  the  prime  minister,  who  lately  succeeded  Gambetta. 
But  the  great  desire  I  had  was  to  see  Gambetta  —  the  greatest 
orator  and  statesman  in  France.     He  was  called  away  last  week 
by  the  death  of  his  mother;  only  returned  to  Paris  yesterday, 
and  for  the  first  hour  he  did  not  come  in.     At  last  he  came  in  and 
took  his  seat  quietly,  and  was  the  object  of  all  eyes  in  the  gal 
leries;  and  received  constant  attention  from  members,  who  kept 
coming  to  him,  and  greeting  him  in  a  deferential  way,  with  a 
manner  evidently  subdued  to  sympathy  with  his  sorrow,  which 
is  very  great,  for  his  mother  was  a  remarkable  woman  and  had 


i66  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

been  his  teacher  and  inspirer,  and  he  loved  her  very  much. 
After  Gambetta  entered,  the  Egyptian  question  came  up,  but 
was  at  once  put  off  for  two  days  by  request  of  the  ministers. 
This  I  regretted,  as  it  deprived  me  of  the  chance  of  hearing 
Gambetta.  However,  I  had  a  good,  long  look  at  him.  He 
looks  to  be  at  least  fifty,  but  is  not;  a  man  of  middle  height, 
thick,  bulky,  with  broad  shoulders,  short  neck,  a  big  head, 
rather  long  hair,  short  whiskers,  and  only  one  eye;  a  man  pre 
paring  for  apoplexy;  a  gross,  luxurious,  sensual  man;  nay,  a 
trifle  greasy,  I  thought,  but  evidently  a  man  of  great  power 
of  body  and  mind,  a  magnetic  and  passionate  man.  He  is  con 
scious  of  his  position;  received  the  homage  of  men  like  a  king. 
That  he  is  a  great  orator  is  certain;  that  he  is  a  great  statesman 
and  administrator  has  yet  to  be  proved. 

Upon  the  whole  the  House  of  Deputies  did  not  seem  to  me 
so  great  an  assemblage  —  so  powerful,  manly,  business-like, 
impressive  —  as  the  House  of  Commons,  or  even  our  own  House 
of  Representatives.  They  looked  and  acted  like  a  mob  of  ex 
citable  big  boys  in  a  great  debating  club.  There  was  incessant 
chatter;  and  the  speaker  often  rang  a  bell  as  big  as  those  used 
for  dinner  bells  in  our  country  taverns;  and  he  pounded  with  a 
large  paper  cutter  on  the  side  of  his  desk;  and  he  kept  saying, 
"Sh,"  "sh,"  "sh,"  all  in  an  impotent,  futile  way.  I  could  im 
agine  what  a  Mirabeau  or  a  Gambetta  could  do  in  such  a  com 
bustible  assembly.  It  seemed  to  me  an  Athenian  or  Roman 
mob,  ready  to  be  inflamed  by  its  master  orator. 

I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  close,  hot  air  where  I  had  been 
for  two  hours  and  have  the  long  walk  eastward  along  the  Boule 
vard  St.  Germain  as  far  as  the  Rue  de  Seine,  and  then  south  to 
the  Palais  de  Luxembourg.  This  is  a  splendid  old  palace,  full  of 
historic  interest,  built  for  Marie  de  Medici  early  in  the  seven 
teenth  century;  a  huge  affair,  consisting  of  three  great  portions 
connected  by  galleries;  said  to  be  after  the  model  of  the  Pitti 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  167 

palace  at  Florence;  having  a  stately,  old-time,  rather  faded 
grandeur;  evidently  belonging  to  glories  that  have  departed. 
Was  a  royal  residence  down  to  the  Revolution;  then  a  prison 
of  state,  in  which  many  noted  persons  were  shut  up,  among  them 
Josephine,  Danton,  Robespierre;  the  palace  of  the  Directory, 
then  of  the  Consulate,  whence  Bonaparte  removed  to  the  Tuile- 
ries.  Since  then,  with  various  fluctuations,  it  has  been  the 
place  for  the  Upper  House,  by  whatever  name  called.  I  entered 
the  ancient  stony  court;  my  ticket  insured  me  all  courtesy 
and  was  soon  seated  in  the  Diplomatic  gallery.  The  change 
from  the  clamorous  mob  of  the  deputies  was  delightful;  a  room 
of  great  but  more  quiet  magnificence,  about  the  size  of  our 
Senate  chamber,  with  fifty  or  sixty  well-dressed  elderly  gentle 
men  sitting  at  their  desks  reading  or  writing,  or  chatting  in  low 
voices;  an  elderly  gentleman  in  the  speaker's  chair,  and  an 
elderly  gentleman  placidly  jabbering  French  from  the  Tribune. 
It  was  all  so  pleasant,  refined,  rational;  here  business  could  be 
done,  and  measures  of  state  really  discussed  in  a  thoughtful 
way.  Yet  I  am  told  that  this  dignified  body  has  but  little  real 
weight  in  French  politics;  not  like  our  Senate,  more  like  the 
English  House  of  Peers;  an  ornamental  body  of  gray-haired 
and  bald-headed  old  fogies  who  go  through  the  motions  of 
legislation  and  imagine  they  are  legislating.  I  took  in  all  I 
wanted  to  get,  in  less  than  an  hour. 

Paris,  28  July.  After  dejeuner  and  a  nap  I  started  by  half- 
past  two  for  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  on  the  top  of  a  'bus;  and 
on  the  journey  I  unexpectedly  met  with  the  greatest  incident 
of  my  visit  so  far.  We  had  reached  a  fine  new  boulevard  named 
Victor  Hugo  in  honor  of  the  old  poet,  who  has  for  years  lived  in 
it  before  it  was  made  a  boulevard;  and  we  were  trundling  along, 
passing  a  rather  plain,  old-fashioned  house  on  the  right,  the  driver, 
with  a  look  of  pride  and  admiration,  pointed  to  an  old  man 


i68  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

seated  at  an  open  window  in  the  second  story,  reading  a 
newspaper,  his  face  partly  turned  away  from  the  light.  The 
driver  said  no  word.  His  gesture  and  look  were  enough.  All 
the  passengers  knew  it  was  Victor  Hugo,  and  they  stared  and 
strained  their  necks  till  we  had  got  far  past.  But  that  would 
not  do  for  me;  so,  sacrificing  my  fare  (not  a  very  heavy  tribute  — 
fifteen  centimes  —  three  ha'pence),  I  jumped  down  and  walked 
back  to  the  house.  On  the  opposite  side  is  a  cafe  and  on  the 
sidewalk  is  a  cosey  bench.  There  I  sat  down  for  a  full  hour  — 
and  drank  it  all  in;  and  that  is  all  that  I  did  drink,  although  the 
cafe"  was  there.  I  had  a  newspaper  with  me  to  give  me  the  air 
of  reading  rather  than  of  rude  staring.  The  house  is  of  two 
stories,  with  an  additional  mansard  story;  door  in  the  middle; 
close  upon  the  sidewalk;  a  good,  slightly  rusty,  oldish,  comfort 
able,  genteel  mansion.  The  old  fellow  sat  there,  with  his  back 
turned,  reading  the  paper.  I  was  in  no  hurry.  I  knew  he  would 
finish  the  paper  before  the  day  was  over,  and  then  get  up  and 
turn  around  and  look  out.  Meantime,  I  made  a  study  of  his 
back  head,  left  ear,  and  shoulders;  a  sturdy,  thick  person,  with 
short  gray  hair.  Finally  he  did  rise  very  slowly,  as  if  it  was 
hard  work;  he  limped  across  the  room;  then  came  back  to  the 
window  with  more  newspapers  in  his  hand,  and  looked  squarely 
out  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  confronted  Victor  Hugo  with  re 
spectful  admiration  and  venerating  scrutiny.  Then,  as  if 
rheumatic,  he  slowly  settled  down  into  his  chair,  with  back 
partially  turned  to  the  public;  and  thus,  when  I  got  ready, 
I  left  him.  I  was  interested  to  note  how  all  persons  who  passed, 
rich,  especially  poor,  old,  young,  gazed  at  that  house  and  looked 
up  at  the  splendid  old  man  in  the  window;  all  the  drivers  of 
cabs  and  'buses  directed  their  passengers  toward  him;  a  small 
boy  in  a  blue  blouse  —  perhaps  a  butcher's  boy  —  rose  on  tiptoes 
and  looked  up;  an  old  man  led  a  little  child  to  the  front  and 
pointed  up;  and  so  it  went  on.  That  old  poet  and  novelist 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  169 

has  written  himself  into  the  heart  of  France;  the  common 
people  worship  him;  his  fame  is  supreme;  and  instead  of  re 
ceiving  human  incense  among  the  Immortals,  he  is  left  here  in 
his  fine  old  age  to  feel  every  hour  and  minute  the  pressure  of 
his  immense  renown.  I  can't  help  noticing  how  particularly 
proud  and  happy  the  cabmen  and  other  lowly  people  looked  when 
they  gazed  at  him.  That  old  man  was  to  them  the  greatest 
man  in  the  world;  he  was  their  friend,  the  champion  of  human 
nature.  I  doubt  if  any  great  poet  was  ever  in  more  direct 
contact  with  his  worshippers  or  had  more  of  them. 

Lucerne,  4  August.  I  reached  here  from  Basel  at  about 
half -past  one.  Came  in  a  third-class  car  —  good  enough  for  a 
king  or  a  professor,  and  cheap,  too.  I  find  the  advantage  of 
not  buying  a  tourist's  ticket,  which  is  never  sold  for  anything 
lower  than  second  class.  The  car  was  like  an  American  car, 
open  at  the  ends;  full  of  good,  sensible  people,  French,  Germans, 
Italians,  all  of  which  languages  were  going  on  at  once.  It  is 
interesting  to  see  in  Switzerland,  which  has  no  language  of 
its  own,  the  influence  of  the  surrounding  languages,  particularly 
French  and  German.  I  notice  that  nearly  all  signs  in  the  streets, 
like  those  for  the  sale  or  rental  of  a  house,  are  expressed  in  the 
two  languages  side  by  side. 

But  what  a  charming  place  this  Lucerne  is  —  inexpressible 
by  this  hurrying  pencil!  I  can't  half  tell  you  about  this  place 
and  all  I  see  and  enjoy  in  it.  Indeed,  now  that  I  have  got  to 
these  sublime  Alps,  I  am  going  to  give  up  trying  to  convey  to  you 
any  impressions  of  what  I  see.  I  give  over  to  Ruskin  and  the 
guide  books.  Language  is  beggarly,  and  I  fall  every  day  more 
and  more  behind  the  reality. 

On  the  Rigij  6  August.  Sunday  morning.  The  highest  bit  of 
earth  I  was  ever  on  before  this  is  the  Catskill  mountains.  At 


i7o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

last  I  have  climbed  a  real  mountain,  nearly  six  thousand  feet 
high.  I  have  hugged  an  Alp.  I  took  the  pretty  boat  from 
Lucerne  at  nine.  In  an  hour  or  more,  with  half  a  dozen  or 
more  pedestrians,  English  and  German,  I  began  my  leisurely 
stroll  into  the  sky.  I  did  not  keep  with  the  others,  for  I  wanted 
to  go  up  in  my  own  way,  and  stop  and  enjoy  the  scenery  as  much 
as  I  liked.  I  reached  the  highest  peak  of  Rigi  at  about  half- 
past  two  in  the  afternoon.  I  am  just  a  little  below  it  now;  but 
it  is  within  easy  reach.  I  saw  the  sun  go  down  behind  the 
mountains  last  night.  This  morning  I  was  called  at  about 
three,  and  joined  a  great  throng  on  the  Rigi-Kulm,  the  highest 
peak,  to  see  the  sun  rise.  It  was  rather  too  cloudy  to  be  an  en 
tire  success,  but  I  was  well  repaid  for  the  early  start  and  the 
endurance  of  the  morning  cold  for  an  hour.  I  just  can't  say 
much  about  it.  The  light  at  dawn  was  better  for  clear  and  re 
mote  vision  than  it  has  been  yet;  and  I  had  a  range  of  mountain 
scenery  and  valley  and  river  and  lakes,  at  least  three  hundred 
miles  from  horizon  to  horizon.  To  me  most  wonderful  were 
the  mountain-tops  patched  with  vast  masses  of  snow,  the  gleam 
of  the  awful  glaciers,  and  especially  the  white,  sharp  summits 
of  the  Bernese  Alps,  including  the  Wetterhorn  and  the  Jungfrau. 
I  got  back  to  the  hotel  at  half-past  six  and  was  glad  to  get  some 
hot  coffee  and  bread  and  butter.  Since  then  I  have  been  to 
bed  and  had  my  nap  out.  It  is  now  nearly  noon.  I  am  writing 
this  on  a  board  table  out  on  the  mountain-side,  with  such  a 
panorama  before  and  around  me  as  I  never  even  imagined  before. 
The  sun  is  shining  warmly  down  an  Alpine  valley  at  my  feet. 
I  see  away  down  pretty  Swiss  cottages  and  I  hear  the  musical 
tinkle  of  the  bells  upon  the  cows  that  are  grazing  along  the  slopes. 
Ah!  brethren  and  sinners,  this  is  a  Sunday,  a  Sunday  on  the  Rigi. 
I  can  now  imagine  how  this  beautiful  world  must  look  from  a 
balloon,  a  mile  up  in  the  sky.  On  some  two  sides  of  this  mountain 
the  slope  is  a  steep  rock;  and  we  look  perpendicularly  down 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  171 

upon  green  fields  and  villages  and  lakes  and  an  immense  expanse 
of  scenery. 

I  see  here  and  there  all  over  the  landscape  pretty  churches. 
Several  times  I  have  heard  the  sound  of  their  bells.  The  sound 
as  it  reached  me  at  this  height  was  exceedingly  sweet  and  musical. 
I  wonder  if  the  sound  of  church  bells  grows  sweet  as  it  rises 
toward  the  sky.  If  it  is  so  sweet  on  the  top  of  Rigi,  how  delicious 
it  must  be  when  it  gets  to  Heaven!  I  am  sure  that  is  the  case, 
when  these  bells  ring  for  the  assemblage  of  sincere  worshippers. 
And  here,  on  this  stupendous  mountain,  all  thought,  all  feeling 
moves  toward  the  infinite  and  finds  expression  only  in  awed 
silence  and  in  worship  that  cannot  speak. 

Lucerne,  6  August.  This  morning  I  was  writing  from  the  top 
of  Rigi-Kulm  and  now  I  am  back  again  in  Lucerne.  One  pe 
culiarity  of  mountain-tops  is  that  they  are  forever  sticking 
their  noses  into  the  passing  clouds;  and  that  though  you  may 
have  radiant  sunlight  one  minute  you  may  be  in  a  dense  cloud 
the  next.  So  it  was  up  there  to-day,  only  the  clouds  seemed  to 
have  so  settled  themselves  around  the  summit  that  there  was  no 
chance  of  any  further  prospect  up  there  for  to-day.  Neverthe 
less  I  should  have  remained  till  to-morrow  morning  if  I  had  had 
warm  enough  clothes.  But  such  clothing  as  I  could  bear  on  me 
in  walking  up  the  mountain  was  hardly  the  thing  to  stay  up 
there  in.  It  was  so  cold  that  your  very  breath  vaporized  as  it 
left  your  mouth.  I  found  it  impossible  this  afternoon  to  keep 
warm.  So  very  reluctantly  I  decided  to  come  down  to  the  level 
of  ordinary  folks.  The  walk  down  to  Weggis  by  the  lakeside 
was,  of  course,  more  rapid  than  the  walk  up  from  there  had 
been;  but  it  proved  also  more  trying,  especially  to  the  muscles 
of  my  legs.  I  rested  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  until  the  pretty 
steamer  should  come  to  take  me  to  Lucerne,  only  a  few  miles 
off.  This  Weggis  I  enjoyed  looking  about  in.  It  is  a  simple 


172  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Swiss  village,  impenetrated  by  Protestantism;  and  the  people 
get  their  living  chiefly  out  of  passers-by.  Two  little  Swiss 
girls,  about  twelve  years  old,  brought  their  baskets  of  fruit  to 
me  as  I  sat  on  a  bench  under  the  trees  close  by  the  lake,  and  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  them  in  German.  These  little  girls  were 
really  lovely  in  their  simplicity  and  trustfulness.  They  opened 
their  eyes  when  I  told  them  that  I  was  from  America.  They 
had  seen  it  on  the  map  and  knew  it  was  very  far  away.  When  I 
used  some  English  words  they  asked  me  if  I  could  speak  English 
too.  I  asked  them  what  language  they  thought  the  Americans 
spoke,  and  they  said  American.  But  they  had  never  heard 
any  one  speak  it.  They  were  perfectly  happy  to  look  over  the 
maps  and  pictures  in  my  Baedeker.  One  of  them  ran  away  a 
minute  and  came  back  with  a  pink,  which  she  put  into  my  button 
hole.  When  I  went  away  they  said  "Goot-pye"  over  and  over 
again  very  fervently;  and  I  must  say  their  simple,  affectionate 
ways  quite  charmed  me. 

The  sail  across  the  lake  to  Lucerne  was  just  as  the  sun  was 
gone  down  back  of  the  mountain  peaks;  the  light  all  around 
was  such  as  to  make  the  outlines  very  distinct.  Especially  I 
had  a  capital  view  of  grim  old  Pilatus. 

Interlaken}  17  August.  This  has  been  a  most  glorious  day  — 
another  experience  for  me  —  riding  in  a  diligence  over  the  moun 
tains  for  twenty-five  miles.  I  am  convinced  that  this  is  a  most 
beautiful  world  to  live  in  and  I  hope  I  may  live  long  enough  to 
show  personally  this  part  of  it  to  my  Frau  and  my  son  and 
daughter.  Only  the  sight  of  it  can  tell. 

Berne,  8  August.  I  got  up  rather  late  and  found  myself  stiff 
and  lame  after  my  Alpine  exercises.  My  legs  feel  as  if  they 
had  been  beaten  with  clubs.  The  scene  is  full  of  brightness, 
freshness,  modern  cheer,  and  gaiety;  and  this  lovely  dale  would 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  173 

be  a  restful  place  to  live  in  for  a  few  weeks  if  only  one  had  his 
household  gods  with  him.  But  I,  a  lone  pilgrim,  had  no  tempta 
tion  to  stay,  and  so  hurried  on. 

Vevay,  14  August.  I  am  sitting  in  the  garden  of  the  Hotel 
d' Angle terre,  looking  off  upon  this  heavenly  lake.  Those 
last  words  at  Berne  were  written  in  the  railway  station.  The 
train  soon  came  and  carried  me  to  Lausanne,  through  a  country 
of  not  remarkable  scenery,  but  dotted  with  pretty  Swiss  chalets. 
I  am  charmed  with  their  management  of  roofs.  Even  their 
cow  houses  and  pig  pens  are  picturesque.  At  Geneva  I  spent 
several  hours  in  walking  about  the  place;  saw  the  house  in 
which  John  Calvin  died  and  in  which  Rousseau  was  born;  saw 
near  the  old  cathedral  of  St.  Pierre  one  street  called  "Rue 
d'Enfer,"  and  another  called  "Rue  de  Purgatoire";  and  a 
restaurant  dedicated  "Au  bon  Diable,"  and  other  things  more 
or  less  amusing.  Geneva  has  a  majestic  site,  fronting  the  lake, 
and  with  a  wall  of  steep  mountain  rocks  behind  it,  and  the  white 
summits  of  the  Mont  Blanc  group  in  the  farther  background. 
It  has  noble  streets,  houses,  monuments;  an  air  of  dignity  and 
intellectuality  almost  Bostonian,  and  a  remote  hint  even  of 
Parisian  vivacity. 

I  found  that  I  could  save  a  day  by  taking  diligence  for  Cha- 
monix,  and  just  as  the  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  immense 
mountains  we  reached  the  vale  of  Chamonix  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Blanc.  At  five  in  the  morning  I  was  up  and  saw  the  sun  painting 
with  glory  those  indescribable  mountain  peaks.  With  a  party 
of  Dutch  and  French  gentlemen,  whom  I  met  at  the  hotel,  I  had 
arranged  to  join  in  having  a  guide  for  crossing  the  Mer  de  Glace. 
It  is  well  named.  Then  we  reached  the  opposite  side,  and 
clambered  down  a  rocky  pass  well  named  Mauvais  Pas  to  a 
height  called  Chapeau,  and  finally  by  three  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon  got  back  to  our  hotel  at  Chamonix.  And  at  this  point 


i74  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  made  a  mistake.  I  had  done  enough  for  the  day  and  should 
have  rested  quietly  till  the  next  day,  but  I  was  persuaded  by  a 
very  agreeable  Dutch  professor  to  join  him  and  his  two  pupils 
in  a  walk  to  Martigny,  over  a  most  rugged  and  steep  mountain 
called  Col  de  Balme,  about  thirty  miles  up  and  down;  and  the 
plan  was  to  start  the  same  afternoon  and  get  as  far  as  Argen- 
tierre  and  rest  there  for  the  night.  I  felt  exhilarated  by  the 
mountain  air  and  foolishly  presumed  upon  my  strength.  Before 
I  could  get  to  Argentierre  I  felt  my  mistake,  and  that  night  I 
was  too  tired  to  sleep  well;  and  the  next  day  I  began  wearily 
the  most  difficult  physical  struggle  I  ever  went  through.  I 
climbed  the  Col  de  Balme,  7,224  feet  high,  descended  it,  and  then 
climbed  Col  de  la  Forclaz,  4,997  ^eet  high,  and  descended  that 
into  the  beautiful  vale  of  Martigny,  along  a  rocky  path,  under 
a  burning  sun.  The  last  few  miles  were  accomplished  in  mere 
desperation.  When  I  reached  Martigny  I  felt  exhausted  with 
fatigue  and  hunger,  but  I  was  too  tired  to  eat.  I  recoiled  from 
food.  All  day  yesterday  I  kept  in  bed  till  about  five  p.  M. 
Have  had  a  good  rest,  but  have  not  yet  recovered  from  the  stu 
pendous  blunder  of  last  Friday  and  Saturday.  I  feel  as  if  I 
loathed  mountains.  I  have  a  positive  nausea  for  them  and 
weariness  —  it  had  gone  into  the  middle  of  all  my  205  bones. 

Lausanne,  15  August.  The  great  fatigue  has  left  me  after 
another  night's  sleep,  and  I  am  ready  for  action  once  more. 
But  I  am  really  tired  of  travel  —  of  mountains  and  cities  and 
ruins  and  hotels  and  babble  of  strange  tongues. 

My  expectation  is  to  reach  Cologne  and  have  it  "done"  by 
to-night,  to  get  to  London  by  Saturday  night  and  have  two  days 
there  for  visiting,  packing;  to  reach  Liverpool  by  Tuesday 
night,  and  to  sail  on  Wednesday,  August  23.  This  is  all  I  can 
stand  of  play  and  loafing  for  the  present.  I  have  seen  the 
typical  things  in  Europe  west  of  the  Italian  Alps.  I  am  satiated. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  175 

Nay,  to  use  an  untranslatable  and  incomparable  Saxonism  — 
I  have  got  my  belly  full.  I  am  ready  to  stop  and  am  anxious 
to  get  home  again,  and  settle  down  to  work. 

Indeed,  I  am  as  eager  now  to  go  home  as  I  was  three  months 
ago  to  come  to  Europe.  I  haven't  thought  much  of  my  college 
work  next  year;  but  whenever  I  do  think  of  it  I  wish  that 
I  were  better  prepared  for  it.  Good-bye,  darlings.  God  bless 
us  all  and  keep  us  safe  whether  on  land  or  sea! 

Ithaca,  2  October.  Am  greatly  enjoying  my  work  this  year. 
Spend  much  more  time  upon  it  than  ever  before.  Am  getting 
it  well  in  hand,  and  have  a  grip  on  my  classes  that  I  never  had 
before.  My  new  class  room  is  a  great  comfort  and  help  to  me. 
It  is  cosey,  somewhat  like  that  dear  old  room  I  had  at  Ann  Arbor, 
and  will  prove  more  and  more  so.  After  lunch  had  a  trial  of  a 
horse  under  the  saddle.  Liked  her  very  much.  It  was  jolly 
to  be  on  horseback  once  more. 

In  the  evening  read  in  Adams's  Randolph  and  got  sleepy  over 
it.  It  is  not  a  well-sustained  production,  and,  excepting  the 
first  two  chapters,  of  no  literary  merit. 

Ithaca,  12  November.  I  have  had  the  service  at  St.  John's 
to-day.  It  has  been  a  day  of  solemn  and  great  joy  to  me.  I 
thought  I  had  divine  help  in  preaching.  Ah!  this  ministering 
to  the  souls  of  men  in  religion  —  what  a  privilege  it  is !  My  heart 
yearns  for  it,  but  my  body  is  so  easily  tired.  I  am  very  tired 
after  to-day's  services.  But  this  is  life  indeed,  doing  something 
real.  My  inmost  heart  now  grieves  over  my  failure  to  continue 
in  it.  God  guide  me,  and  help  me  to  do  His  holy  will ! 

Baltimore,  12  December.  I  took  limited  Washington  express 
at  ten,  reaching  here  at  about  three  this  afternoon.  The  kind 
Joel  Benton  accompanied  me  to  the  station;  the  same  gentle, 


1 76  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

polite,  devoted,  old  Bettyish,  dear  little  man  that  he  was  twenty 
years  ago.  Lectured  on  the  Early  colleges  at  the  Peabody. 
The  audience  seemed  to  be  in  continual  good  humor.  Worked 
like  a  Trojan  on  my  lecture  for  to-morrow  night. 

New  York,  31  December.  Have  worked  very  hard  at  the  His 
torical  Society.  Have  dined  and  wined  very  much  and  am 
rather  done  up.  Thus  ends  1882  —  a  year  of  various  experi 
ences;  a  year  of  very  sweet  and  imperishable  memory.  Thanks 
be  to  God! 


CHAPTER  XI 

1883 

Ithaca,  17  January.  In  the  evening  I  read  Wirt's  Turkish 
spy.  Have  determined  to  get  vigorously  about  the  collection 
of  material  for  a  life  of  Patrick  Henry 

Ithaca,  29  February.  Preached  at  St.  John's  my  sermon  on 
Matthew's  answer  to  Christ's  call.  It  was  a  sacred  privilege  to 
me  to  preach,  and  God  seemed  to  give  his  blessing  to  the  sermon. 
I  was  greatly  moved;  and  the  reaction  was  very  great.  I  did 
not  go  out  again  all  day,  but  rested.  I  feel  that  my  life  is  passing 
to  a  higher  plane  of  motive.  Fame  as  an  object  in  life  has 
lost  its  power  for  me,  and  all  other  finite  and  earthly  motives  as 
well.  They  cannot  satisfy. 

Ithaca,  ii  April.  Received  a  letter  from  Bishop  Huntington 
to  the  effect  that  Bishop  Coxe  has  consented  to  come  here  and 
ordain  me  April  29.  In  the  evening  read  aloud  in  Farrar's 
St.  Paul,  also  read  in  Browne  on  the  articles,  and  in  Phillips 
Brooks.  My  afternoon  reading  is  now  all  in  theology  and  in 
Biblical  and  devotional  writings. 

Ithaca,  April  28.  Bishop  Coxe  arrived  at  8 130  this  evening,  and 
I  escorted  him  to  the  rectory,  where  I  remained  with  him  till  after 
eleven.  He  is  very  gracious  and  fascinating;  and  he  makes  the 
ordination  a  matter  of  his  most  careful  attention.  He  asks 
minutely  respecting  all  requirements;  has  me  write  and  sign  my 
subscription  to  the  articles,  etc.,  and  enters  an  account  of  my 

177 


178  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

life.     He  is  very  apostolic.      The  approaching  event  fills  me 
with  deep  emotion. 

Ithaca,  April  29.  Before  ten  I  reached  the  Bishop's  presence, 
and  spent  the  time  with  him  alone  in  earnest  and  solemn  conver 
sation.  He  asked  me  concerning  my  theological  tendencies, 
and  advised  me  to  read  Bull  and  Leighton  —  the  former  for 
catholic  theology,  the  latter  for  devotion.  We  walked  to  church 
together.  A  very  large  congregation.  The  services  lasted  till 
half-past  one.  The  Bishop's  sermon  was  good,  but  below  my 
expectations  either  for  thought  or  expression. 

Of  course  it  is  the  most  solemn  day  in  my  life.  God  help 
me  to  be  faithful  to  these  most  sacred  vows!  I  feel  that  I  am 
now  set  apart  in  a  peculiar  way  for  only  holy  uses.  God  is  very 
near  to  me.  Dined  at  three.  Until  then  the  Bishop  had  me 
alone  with  him  in  his  room;  and  he  gave  me  much  apostolic 
counsel,  sympathy,  and  encouragement.  It  was  very  sweet  and 
noble.  He  said  he  preferred  to  be  alone  with  me,  that  he  might 
avoid  desultory  conversation. 

I  left  and  came  home  for  some  needed  rest.  Was  too  utterly 
tired  out  to  sleep.  At  seven  went  to  church.  I  read  prayers 
and  pronounced  absolution  for  the  first  time.  Perhaps  I  was 
too  tired  properly  to  judge  of  the  Bishop's  sermon,  but  it  was 
again  disappointing.  I  bade  him  farewell  at  the  church. 
No  day  so  sacred  and  holy  as  this  has  ever  before  been 
mine. 

I  write  here  in  a  reserved  way  of  my  most  secret  thoughts. 
My  spirit  has  passed  through  a  great  change  this  past  year;  and 
the  motives  which  have  hitherto  impelled  me  in  life  have  lost 
their  power.  No  motive  but  that  of  loyalty  to  God  in  the  service 
of  man  seems  to  me  to  be  worthy  of  any  man's  life;  and  I  grieve 
over  my  lapse  from  the  high  grounds  on  which  I  started  in  life. 
If  now  my  book  were  done,  most  gladly  would  I  give  up  all  and 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  179 

preach  the  Gospel  and  die  in  that  service.  But  I  feel  committed 
to  the  completion  of  my  literary  task,  and  long  to  have  it  done. 
God  help  me!  God  guide  me! 

Ithaca,  Sunday,  20  May.  At  St.  John's,  this  morning,  cele 
brated  the  Holy  Communion  for  the  first  time.  It  is  an  un 
speakably  solemn  and  pathetic  act;  my  soul  was  deeply  moved. 
At  Sage  Chapel  in  the  afternoon  heard  Bishop  Simpson,  who  is 
not  quite  seventy- three ;  is  tall,  slender,  bowed  over,  with  a  high, 
thin  voice,  provincial  pronunciation,  but  an  air  of  great  sincerity, 
reverence,  earnestness.  His  sermon  was  a  high  piece  of  sustained 
intellectual  power,  with  many  defects  in  scholarship. 

Ithaca,  22  May.  My  morning  work,  as  usual,  then  went  to 
hear  Goldwin  Smith.  Small  audience.  Few  students.  He 
talks  such  English  as  one  rejoices  to  hear.  Later  in  the  after 
noon  called  on  him.  He  has  aged  in  looks;  is  most  meagre; 
looks  like  the  knight  of  the  melancholy  countenance.  His  talk 
is  critical,  clean,  strong,  but  not  morally  cheerful  or  spiritually 
bright.  He  insists  that  there  is  a  universal  disintegration  of 
faith  in  England.  I  infer  that  that  is  the  case  with  himself.  His 
talk,  like  the  look  out  of  his  eyes,  is  rather  dreary,  pessimistic. 
One  of  the  notable  things  he  said  was  that  he  once  asked  Earl 
Russell  who  was  the  best  speaker  he  ever  heard.  His  reply  was: 
"The  finest  speaker  was  Plunkett;  the  most  charming  was  Can 
ning;  but  the  weightiest  was  Sir  Robert  Peel." 

Ithaca,  27  May.  Felt  like  preaching  to-day.  Read  service 
as  usual.  My  heart  and  conscience  more  and  more  pull  me  to 
ward  a  complete  devotion  of  myself  to  the  ministry.  It  is  chiefly 
—  perhaps  solely  —  a  question  of  health. 

Ithaca,  June  7.  At  last  I  begin  to  feel  adjusted  to  my  new 
home.  The  two  years  that  have  passed  since  I  decided  to  come 


i8o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

here  have  been  given  to  the  organization  of  my  class  work,  and 
at  last  I  have  got  that  so  well  arranged  that  I  can  begin  the  next 
year  without  anxiety,  and  can  make  much  time  for  real  literary 
production.  And  yet,  and  yet,  my  soul  constantly  says,  "Thou 
ought  to  be  preaching  the  Gospel,  rather  than  teaching  American 
history,  or  writing  books  upon  it."  And  if  God  clearly  points 
to  me  that  it  is  His  will  that  I  should  give  my  whole  time  and 
strength  to  preaching,  His  will  be  done. 

ij  June.  Left  for  Rome,  N.  Y.,  to  attend  a  diocesan  con 
vention.  A  much  abler  set  of  men  than  we  had  in  Michigan 
when  I  left.  I  had  a  very  little  talk  with  the  Bishop,  who  im 
presses  me  more  and  more  by  his  wisdom  and  spiritual  earnest 
ness  and  depth. 

Albany,  n  July.  Attended  convocation  rather  fitfully. 
Viewed  the  new  Capitol.  Shook  hands  with  the  governor,  who 
looks  like  a  prosperous  pork  butcher.  Met  Professor  Gilmore, 
of  Rochester,  and  President  Folwell,  of  University  of  Minnesota. 
With  latter  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  my  room.  I  like  him.  He 
doesn't  like  college  presidencies.  We  agree. 

Albany,  12  July.  Gave  my  address  at  twelve.  Was  in  good 
force.  The  regents  conferred  on  me  the  degree  of  L.H.D. 

[The  following  clipping  is  taken  from  the  Rochester  democrat 
alluding  to  this  occasion:] 

"The  regents  of  the  university,  at  their  semi-annual  meeting, 
conferred  the  degree  of  L.H.D.  on  Prof.  Moses  Coit  Tyler, 
of  Cornell  University.  The  regents  have  uniformly  been  very 
scrupulous  in  the  bestowal  of  the  higher  degrees,  and  therefore 
in  each  case  in  which  such  a  degree  has  been  given  it  may  be 
assumed  to  have  real  significance.  Certainly  in  the  case  of 
Professor  Tyler  it  has  been  appropriately  bestowed.  His  ser 
vices  to  the  cause  of  letters,  especially  as  indicated  in  his  History 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  181 

of  American  literature,  which  is  already  a  standard  work, 
place  him  in  the  front  rank  of  American  authors,  and,  as  he  is 
still  a  comparatively  young  man,  more  is  to  be  expected  from  his 
ardent  studies  and  graceful  pen.  Professor  Tyler  delivered  the 
annual  address  before  the  university  convocation  last  evening." 

Ithaca,  15  July.  Preached  at  St.  John's  on  God.  I  was 
deeply  moved  both  by  the  service  and  in  the  sermon.  This  is 
the  greatest  work  for  me.  I  am  at  my  best  in  this.  God  lead 
me!  In  the  afternoon  White  called  and  invited  me  to  be  his 
guest  on  a  journey  abroad. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Oxford,  August  12,  1883 

DEAREST  JEANNETTE: 

Perhaps  you  will  be  as  much  surprised  as  I  am  to  see  this 
letter  dated  at  Oxford.  We  left  the  hotel  in  London  yesterday 
noon,  intending  to  go  to  York,  and  directed  the  cabman  to  drive 
us  to  King's  Cross  station.  Just  before  we  started  I  had  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Max  Muller,  at  Oxford,  in  reply  to  one  from 
me  written  at  White's  request,  and  it  suddenly  popped  into  his 
mind  that  we  had  better  go  to  Oxford  and  see  Max  Muller,  in 
stead  of  going  at  once  to  York.  So  we  ordered  cabby  to  drive 
us  to  the  Paddington  station,  where  we  took  train  for  this  an 
cient  and  majestic  seat  of  learning,  arriving  at  about  four  in  the 
afternoon,  and  taking  up  our  abode  at  this  fine  hotel.  At  five 
we  went  to  see  Max  Muller.  White's  object  was  to  induce  him 
to  come  next  year  and  give  some  lectures  at  Cornell.  He  lives 
in  an  elegant  villa  embowered  in  trees  in  a  fine  garden,  and  is 
himself  the  model  of  a  great  scholar  and  an  accomplished  gentle 
man.  He  seems  to  be  about  sixty  years  old;  has  a  clear,  bright 
German-English  face;  speaks  English  with  just  a  slight  accent, 
but  with  a  fine  vocabulary,  and  his  conversation  is  animated, 
sparkling,  and  with  all  the  notes  of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  best 
life  in  the  world.  White  found  at  once  that  his  effort  to  get  him 
to  come  to  America  was  hopeless.  He  said  that  for  twenty  years 


182  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

he  had  had  many  similar  overtures;  that  he  had  great  literary 
tasks  to  accomplish,  for  which  life  at  longest  would  be  too  short; 
that  he  could  only  stay  at  home  and  keep  steadily  at  his  work; 
that  if  he  travelled  anywhere  it  must  be  to  India,  which  he  always 
had  a  passion  for  seeing;  but  that  he  expected  never  to  get  time 
to  see  either  England,  India,  or  America. 

The  conversation  ranged  over  many  subjects,  till  he  asked 
us  to  walk  with  him  to  the  university  park,  where  his  wife  and 
daughter  were  playing  lawn  tennis  with  other  members  of  a  club. 
It  was  a  rich  English  turf,  and  his  daughter,  a  bonny,  whole 
some  English  lass  —  as  healthy  as  a  fresh  rose  —  with  a  sweet 
voice,  came  bounding  toward  us  saying:  "Daddy,  what  makes 
you  so  late?  Mamma  got  tired  of  waiting  for  you  and  has  gone 
home.'7 

We  were  introduced  to  several  people,  the  most  notable  of 
whom  was  Mrs.  Mark  Pattison,  whose  husband  is  the  principal 
of  Lincoln  College  here,  and  who  is  said  to  be  the  original  of 
Casaubon  in  Middlemarch.  Mrs.  Pattison  is  much  younger 
than  her  husband,  and  perhaps  is  the  original  of  Dorothea.  At 
any  rate  she  is  a  very  brilliant,  witty,  and  accomplished  woman, 
rather  French  than  English  in  her  type,  and  said  to  be  the  best 
lady  fencer  in  England.  I  am  told  that  she  and  her  husband 
live  very  unhappily  together.  She  talked  in  the  most  lively 
way  and  badgered  President  White  a  little  for  having  drawn 
away  to  America  her  special  friend,  Goldwin  Smith. 

We  then  came  to  the  hotel  to  dinner;  and  at  half -past  nine,  by 
invitation,  went  to  a  small  reception  at  Max  Miiller's  and  stayed 
until  nearly  midnight.  He  played  the  piano  to  his  daughter's 
singing  and  to  an  accompaniment  on  the  violin  by  the  daughter 

of  the  dean  of  Winchester.     There  were  present  a  Miss ,  of 

Philadelphia;  a  young  Mr.  B ,  a  Harvard  man,  now  a  student 

here  —  a  very  superior  fellow;  and  an  English  student  named 
Lascelles  —  a  perfect  giant  physically,  being  six  feet  ten  inches 
high.  Max  Miiller  told  us  that  Barnum  had  sent  proposals  to 
him  for  exhibition;  but  he  is  of  a  fine  English  family  and  of  course 
declined.  Mrs.  Max  Miiller  is  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Froude  and 
of  Mrs.  Charles  Kingsley,  and  is  of  the  best  sort  of  English 
woman. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  183 

This  morning  at  ten  we  went  to  the  cathedral  to  the  service, 
which  was  very  sweet  and  rich.  This  is  the  seat  of  the  Puseyite 
party;  and  Pusey  himself  was  buried  just  beneath  our  feet  as 
we  sat  there.  We  saw  Dean  Liddell  and  Professor  Stubbs  and 
Professor  Driver,  who  is  Pusey's  successor.  The  cathedral 
is  old  and  rich  in  all  forms  of  grandeur,  architectural  beauty, 
and  historical  associations.  There  my  friend  Bishop  Berkeley 
is  buried.  After  church  Mr.  B.  escorted  us  on  a  walk  through 
Christ  Church  meadows,  along  the  Cherwell  and  through  several 
of  the  colleges;  and  then  after  lunch  this  afternoon  both  he  and 
Max  Miiller  called  to  accompany  us  further  through  the  colleges. 
We  had  two  delightful  hours  of  it,  and  a  most  delightful  time. 
I  especially  enjoyed  a  visit  to  All  Souls'  College,  which  was  Max 
Miiller's  and  which  is  a  most  luxurious  abode.  One  of  the 
many  good  things  which  Max  Miiller  told  us  is  this:  All  Souls' 
College  was  founded  by  Bishop  Berkeley  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
especially  to  support  fellows  who  should  pray  for  the  souls  of 
Englishmen  killed  in  the  French  wars  at  that  time.  Then  came 
the  Reformation,  which  rendered  praying  for  anybody's  soul 
unlawful  in  England.  But  the  endowment  was  very  rich;  and 
the  fellows  were  comfortably  provided  for  and  had  nothing  to 
do.  It  is  the  only  college  in  Oxford  which  never  had  an  under 
graduate  in  it.  It  has  extensive  buildings  and  quadrangles  with 
fine  grass.  A  few  years  ago  Parliament  sent  a  commission  to 
overhaul  the  university;  they  summoned  the  wardens  of  All 
Souls'  before  them,  and  among  their  questions  was  this:  "Why 
don't  you  have  undergraduates  in  your  college?"  "  What's  the 
use  of  undergraduates?"  said  the  warden  in  reply;  "they  would 
only  spoil  our  grass." 

Max  Miiller  is  very  fond  of  dogs;  and  has  two,  which  he  treats 
very  affectionately.  Lovingly  thine,  M. 


Paris,  August  25, 
Well,  here  we  are  in  this  brilliant  city  once  more.  We  left 
London  at  eleven  yesterday  morning  by  train  to  Folkestone, 
then  by  steamer  to  Boulogne.  Our  passage  across  the  channel 
was  delightful.  A  slight  breeze,  but  not  enough  to  make 
anybody  turn  pale.  White,  who  has  crossed  the  channel 


i84  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

times  without  number,  says  it  is  the  pleasantest  passage  he 
ever  had. 

I  wasn't  much  impressed  by  Boulogne.  Suppose  I  saw  it 
but  imperfectly.  It  hadn't  the  old  French  look  that  I  noticed 
in  Dieppe  last  year.  It  is  a  great  English  colony  on  French 
soil.  I  saw  the  cathedral  at  a  distance,  and  the  columnar  mon 
ument  to  Napoleon  on  the  spot  where  Napoleon  assembled  his 
forces  for  his  great  invasion  of  England,  which  he  never  made. 
The  figure  of  Napoleon  stands  on  the  top  of  the  column,  still 
looking  hard  at  England.  The  journey  through  France  from 
Boulogne  is  less  picturesque  than  that  from  Dieppe.  One  no 
ticeable  thing  in  the  north  of  France  is  the  absence  of  all  fine 
country  houses.  The  fury  of  the  French  Revolution  swept  them 
all  away;  and  the  democracy  has  since  built  plain,  democratic 
abodes.  As  we  went  through  Amiens  I  got  a  peep  at  its  cathedral, 
which  White  regards  as  one  of  the  three  or  four  best  in  Europe. 
It  is  pleasant  to  be  immersed  for  a  few  days  in  gorgeousness,  al 
though  I  don't  lose  my  heart  to  it.  The  great  satisfactions 
of  existence  do  not  depend  upon  it. 

Our  visit  to  Ayr  was  a  great  success  in  every  way.  We  reached 
that  place  at  about  six;  got  rooms  at  the  King's  Arms  and  then 
took  a  carriage  for  Burns's  birthplace,  for  his  monument,  and  for 
Alloway  Kirk,  about  three  miles  out.  The  air  was  cool  and 
bracing,  full  of  nectar  and  champagne;  and  we  greatly  enjoyed 
everything.  We  saw  the  very  house,  the  room,  even  the  bed  in 
which  Burns  was  born,  and  many  deeply  interesting  mementoes 
of  him.  After  our  return  to  the  hotel  we  walked  across  the  atwa 
Brigs  o'  Air;"  and  tried  to  take  our  whiskey  toddy  in  the  very 
inn  from  which  Tarn  o'  Shanter  started  on  his  memorable  ride, 
but  found  it  closed  for  a  few  days,  apparently  on  account 
of  a  death.  .  .  .  MOSES. 

Paris,   August  29,   1883 
MY  BELOVED: 

This  is  the  last  letter  I  can  write  to  you  before  sailing;  and 
the  ship  it  goes  by  will  have  to  sail  swiftly,  or  my  ship  will  get 
to  New  York  before  it.  No  doubt  you  see  that  the  City  of  Rome 
is  making  remarkably  fast  passages;  and  unless  head  winds  are 
very  strong  we  shall  reach  New  York  by  the  thirteenth. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  185 

I  am  to  see  you  so  soon  after  this  can  get  to  you  that  I  don't 
feel  like  writing  much  now.  In  fact,  there  is  hardly  time  in  the 
rush  of  events  here  to  scribble  more  than  a  few  lines. 

On  Sunday  I  had  a  delightful  hour  at  the  American  Episcopal 
Church,  where  Dr.  Henry  Potter,  of  Grace  church,  preached.  In 
the  afternoon  White  and  I  went  to  Notre  Dame,  the  Pantheon 
and  several  old  churches,  and  rambled  through  the  Latin  quarter 
of  the  town,  where  he  used  to  live  as  a  student  thirty  years  ago. 

Yesterday  we  called  on  the  American  minister,  visited  the 
tomb  of  Napoleon,  some  of  the  old  book-shops,  the  pictures  of 
the  Luxembourg,  and  I  went  alone  once  more  to  the  Pantheon 
and  Notre  Dame.  Now  committing  ourselves  to  God's  provi 
dence,  I  can  only  say  good-bye  and  God  bless  you  and  speed 
the  happy  day!  Lovingly,  M. 

Ithaca,  September  17,  1883.  Have  had  a  glorious,  restful, 
healthful  journey.  Full  of  health,  of  gratitude,  of  hope,  I  return 
to  my  home  and  to  my  work,  in  which  I  earnestly  invoke 
God's  blessing.  May  I  live  a  life  that  shall  make  others  happier 
and  better!  I  thank  God  for  all  his  benefits  to  me  and 
mine. 

Ithaca,  29  September.  From  eight  to  one  as  usual  at  office. 
Got  two  hours  for  book.  I  hope  now  to  keep  some  work  on  it 
all  the  time  in  hand.  My  interest  has  moved  away  from  it  to 
my  original  vocation  in  life;  but  I  may  have  the  book  as  a  side 
occupation,  and  by  perseverance  may  get  much  done  in  the  course 
of  years.  Its  completion  is  now  no  longer  a  matter  of  ambition, 
but  a  matter  of  character  —  an  act  of  devotion  to  the  duty  of 
finishing  whatever  worthy  thing  one  has  undertaken. 

Ithaca,  i  October.    Lectures  to  seniors  at  eight  and  twelve. 
I  am  getting  the  hang  of  history  lectures  now.    The  lectures 
I  am  giving  are  new  ones  on  the  period  from  1783  to  1789.     The  i 
study  interests  me  much,  and  all  bears  on  my  VoL  III.  Ah!  that 


i86  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

unborn  Volume  III!  At  the  twelve  o'clock  lecture  some  of  my 
seniors  stayed  away  to  attend  a  class  meeting — a  proceeding  of 
which  I  shall  take  notice,  and  from  which  some  trouble  is  likely 
to  arise. 

Ithaca,  10  October.  Weather  strangely  and  oppressively  warm. 
Worked  from  nine  to  twelve  on  lectures  on  the  Constitution; 
then  till  one  I  began  to  put  my  books  in  better  order  on  the 
shelves.  Have  just  had  my  two  closets  fitted  up  with  shelves 
for  manuscripts.  Altogether  my  den  is  getting  to  be  very  nice 
as  a  workshop;  and  with  our  new  arrangements  for  heating,  the 
building  is  practically  fireproof.  My  shelves  are  visible  from 
the  walk  on  the  outside;  and  a  meek  freshman  came  to  my  door 
and  asked  if  this  was  the  "second-hand  book-store."  Dear  boy, 
he  looked  very  sweet  and  harmless. 

Ithaca,  14  December.  In  the  evening  read  in  St.  Luke,  revised 
.  version,  which  I  greatly  enjoy.  I  cannot  doubt  that  it  will  yet 
displace  the  other.  Spent  the  evening  in  studying  sermons  for 
to-morrow  afternoon,  etc.  My  heart  has  almost  wholly  deserted 
literary  work  —  the  inspiration  for  which  was  love  of  fame. 
This  has  now  lost  its  power  over  me.  Fame  is  an  illusion  in 
this  universe.  The  only  motive  worthy  of  a  man  is  love.  Under 
that  motive  I  am  impelled  straight  to  the  work  of  the  ministry. 
I  await  God's  orders. 

Ithaca,  21  December.  Worked  at  den  from  nine  to  one.  First 
two  hours  on  oration.  Then  read  in  Life  of  Lieber  a  book  that 
braces  one's  manhood  and  compels  one  to  task  himself  to  do 
the  most  honest  intellectual  work;  full  of  acute  remarks  and 
seed-ideas;  the  record  of  a  brave  and  helpful  life.  In  the  evening 
read  two  hours  in  Bishop  Bull  —  a  sound,  virile  theologian, 
the  embodiment  of  solid  thought,  solid  sense,  no  whining  or 
crotchets;  catholic,  human  Christianity. 


"  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  187 

Ithaca,  27  December.  Spent  the  morning  at  home  rewriting 
a  sermon  which  I  may  preach  in  New  York  at  Church  of  the 
Annunciation,  January  6.  It  is  on  Christianity  a  power.  In 
evening  read  to  Jeannette  two  sermons  of  Stopford  Brooke.  My 
spirit  suffers  ineffable  anguish  over  my  own  errors  and  lapses 
from  the  high  path  I  started  to  walk  as  a  young  man.  Oh, 
merciful  God!  pardon,  pardon;  help,  help.  Undo,  if  possible, 
some  —  all  —  the  harm  I  have  done!  May  the  remainder 
of  my  life  be  paid  to  Thee  by  me  with  a  devotion  intensified  by 
my  years  of  apathy! 

Ithaca,  31  December.  All  the  morning  at  den  on  that  con 
founded  oration.  In  the  afternoon  a  glorious  ride  —  my  usual 
ten  miles.  In  the  evening  read  in  Christlieb  his  remarkable 
chapter  on  the  Trinity.  Good-bye,  Old  Year! 


CHAPTER  XII 

1884 

Jan.  i.  I  enter  the  New  Year  in  high  health,  and  with  spirits 
clear  and  confident,  though  chastened.  The  one  grief  of  my  life 
is  that  I  fell  away  from  the  noble  cause  that  I  began.  Yet  — • 
what  lessons  I  have  had!  Could  I  have  learned  them  in  any 
other  way  ? 

New  York,  2  January.  A  nasty  day,  such  as  New  York  is 
capable  of  —  snow  in  heaps,  and  villainously  dirty,  slushy  streets, 
raining  like  mad.  Last  evening  preached  at  the  Church  of  the 
Annunciation.  Was  much  embarrassed.  Dr.  W.  J.  Seabury, 
who  was  going  with  me  on  an  historic  pilgrimage  to  Westchester, 
came  behind  time;  we  were  too  late  for  the  train  and  had  to 
postpone  the  whole  affair.  I  spent  several  hours  with  him  at 
his  study  and  home  and  saw  the  Seabury  papers,  etc. 

New  York,  7  January.  Spent  morning  in  revising  lecture  for 
to-night  on  Bishop  Seabury.  Dined  at  Doctor  Hoffman's  at 
six.  Lectured  at  St.  Peter's  Hall  at  eight.  Had  a  good 
time. 

Ithaca,  29  January.  Lecture  at  eight.  Spent  till  one  on  my 
chapter  on  James  Otis  for  Vol.  III.  Ah!  that  I  had  that  volume 
done.  If  that  engagement  were  off  my  soul  —  what  should  I 
do?  My  heart  impels  me  to  give  my  whole  life  to  religious  work 
among  men. 

In  the  evening  read  in  Milman  and  Uberweg.       The  latter  I 

188 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  189 

take  up  for  philosphy,  instead  of  Cousin,  whom  I  cannot  now 
read,  though  twenty-five  years  ago  I  delighted  in  him. 

Ithaca,  6  February.  Lecture  at  eight.  Nine  to  one  on  steady 
work  on  James  Otis.  Good  progress.  I  have  prayed  earnestly 
for  help  to  do  this  work,  and  to  get  it  finished  that  I  may  give 
myself  wholly  to  religious  writing  and  speaking.  My  prayers 
are  being  answered. 

Ithaca,  18  February.  Lecture  at  eight.  Till  a  quarter  past 
twelve  worked  on  Otis,  in  which  I  prosper.  I  seem  to  have  special 
success  in  getting  forward  with  the  book  work  —  the  completion 
of  which  is  the  one  thing  needful  to  my  being  quite  free  for  re 
ligious  work  with  pen  and  voice. 

Ithaca,  3  March.  Lectured  at  eight.  From  nine  to  twelve 
on  Otis.  Rights  of  the  British  colonies.  Made  good  progress. 
I  am  grateful  for  it  —  I  am  working  out  my  freedom.  When  this 
is  done  my  mortgage  to  secular  life  will  be  paid  off,  and  I  shall 
be  free  in  honor  to  give  my  time,  voice,  pen,  soul,  body,  to  direct 
work  for  the  souls  of  men. 

This  evening  finished  second  volume  of  Milman's  History  of 
Christianity,  which  has  been  rather  oppressive  lately  by  its 
Gibbonish  style. 

Ithaca,  16  March.  In  the  evening  gave  my  lecture  on  Bishop 
Seabury.  It  is  some  time  since  I  have  enjoyed  any  public  speak 
ing  as  I  did  this.  I  have  modified  the  lecture  after  each  delivery, 
and  it  comes  nearer  the  mark  now.  Ratherish  tired,  but  not 
overwhelmed.  Oh,  I'm  quite  a  war-horse! 

Ithaca,  17  March.  Lectured  at  eight.  At  work  on  classi 
fication  till  twelve;  then  read  for  an  hour  that  bracing  book, 
Lieber's  Life  and  letters.  In  afternoon  attended  civil  service 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

examination  committee.  We  decided  to  send  Apgar  to  Albany 
to  brace  up  our  representative  to  vote  for  the  extension  of  the 
system  to  smaller  municipalities,  etc. 

New  York,  26  March.  Left  for  New  York  this  A.  M.  On 
my  arrival  here,  the  good  Joel  Benton  met  me  with  his 
buoyant  and  gracious  greeting  —  proffering  all  manner  of  kind 
services  and  talking  of  the  little  authors  and  small  literary  doings 
of  the  town. 

Middletown,  Ct.,  28  March.  Was  met  at  the  station  by  the 
stately  and  beloved  Bishop  Williams.  In  the  evening  I  lectured 
on  Bishop  Berkeley.  After  the  lecture  an  informal  reception 
in  the  Bishop's  library,  for  faculty  and  students.  This  visit 
with  Bishop  Williams  has  been  delightful  in  the  extreme.  I 
have  seldom  seen  a  man  who  so  strongly  draws  out  my  admiration 
and  affection.  His  talk  is  rich.  Besides  serious  and  suggestive 
things,  it  sparkles  with  humor  and  anecdote.  I  will  try  to  record 
some  of  his  good  things.  He  told  me  that  his  grandfather  was 
a  Loyalist  in  the  Revolution.  One  very  cold  night  in  winter  he 
was  called  up  by  a  person  who  told  him  that  he  was  needed  by 
a  sick  person  several  miles  away.  He  went  in  the  sleigh  with 
the  messenger.  Having  got  to  the  house  and  stepped  from  the 
sleigh,  the  man  said:  "Now,  you  d — d  old  Tory;  there's  no 
body  sick  here;  and  you  can  just  get  home  the  best  way  you  can." 
So  he  left  the  old  man  out  in  the  fierce  night  and  the  deep  snow, 
on  a  lonely  country  road.  He  struggled  through  and  got  home; 
but  his  death  was  hastened  by  it.  Bishops  Madison  and  Pro- 
voost  were  Arians.  So  poor  a  churchman  was  Madison  that  one 
day  a  student  at  William  and  Mary  College  came  to  him  and  said : 
"Will  there  be  the  usual  college  exercise  to-morrow?" 

"Why  not?"  said  Bishop  Madison. 

"  It  is  Good  Friday." 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  191 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  Of  course  college  work 
will  go  on  as  usual." 

Whitefield  told  Tutor  Flint,  of  Harvard  College,  that  Tillot- 
son  was  now  in  hell.  "No,  Mr.  Whitefield,  you  will  not  find 
him  there." 

The  Bishop  told  several  amusing  things  about  the  experiences 
of  himself  and  other  bishops  among  strangers  in  travelling. 

Bishop  Upfold  was  saluted  in  the  cars  by  the  conductor  ex 
claiming,  "Well,  old  cock,  how  are  you  to-day?"  The  Bishop 
replied  solemnly,  "Sir,  do  you  know  that  I  am  Bishop  Upfold?" 

"Whew!    The  devil  you  are!" 

He  was  himself  one  summer  fishing  in  Vermont  and  boarded 
at  a  farm  house.  The  family  knew  him  as  "Mr.  Williams." 
One  day  the  woman  expressed  a  great  desire  to  know  what  his 
business  was  when  he  was  "to  home."  He  considered  that  she 
would  have  no  idea  what  "bishop"  meant;  so  he  told  her  that 
he  was  "a  travelling  agent." 

When  I  suggested  that  the  case  in  which  bishops  carried 
their  robes  added  special  fitness  to  the  description,  he  said: 
"Yes;  why,  only  the  other  evening,  when  I  came  home  from  a 
visitation,  and  one  of  my  boys  met  me  at  the  station  and  carried 
my  bag  for  me,  I  heard  another  student  say  to  him,  "Billy, 
what  have  you  got  there?" 

"Only  the  old  gentleman's  sample  case." 

When  Trinity  College  was  at  its  old  site  in  Hartford,  years 
ago,  a  clergyman,  since  made  a  bishop,  was  elected  into  the  board 
of  trustees.  He  entered  in  his  work  with  an  idea  of  thoroughness. 
The  morning  after  his  arrival  at  Hartford  to  attend  the  first 
meeting  of  the  board  he  got  up  early,  and  walked  around  and 
through  the  campus  to  see  what  he  could  find  that  was  wrong. 
Away  down  in  the  lower  edge  of  the  campus  he  found  a  dead 
horse  that  had  been  lying  there  some  time.  At  the  meeting 
he  gravely  related  the  incident,  and  said  twice  over  very  seriously, 


192  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

"Gentlemen,  I  was  mortified."  Bishop  Williams  interposed, 
"And  so  was  the  horse."  The  meeting  broke  up  in  convulsions. 
Bishop  Williams  told  me  that  once  on  a  Hudson  river  boat  a 
ruffian  tried  to  force  his  way  to  the  ticket  office  out  of  his  turn, 
and  he  (the  Bishop)  knocked  him  down. 

Providence,  16  June.  Gave  my  lecture  on  Berkeley  at  the 
Infantry  Hall.  Had  considerable  talk  with  Bishop  Clark,  who 
is  seventy-two,  but  has  the  look  of  fifty.  His  vivacity  is  all  I 
had  expected.  When  I  asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  Scotland 
this  summer  to  the  Seabury  commemoration,  he  said  no,  and  that 
he  took  but  little  interest  in  the  thing.  He  thought  Seabury's  in 
fluence  on  the  organization  of  the  American  church  had  been  bad. 

Ithaca,  27  June.  The  first  hush  and  serenity  of  a  university 
town  after  commencement  are  very  soothing  to  me.  I  can 
feel  the  vacation.  It  gives  a  sense  of  deliverance  from  the  usual 
grind.  After  nap  in  afternoon  did  errands;  took  J.  driving;  and 
felt  all  the  evening  the  good,  clam-like  vacation  stupor.  Lay  in 
the  hammock  in  slumberous  bliss. 

Ithaca,  23  July.  Got  to  my  den  by  half -past  nine  and  worked 
till  a  quarter  past  one,  there,  and  at  the  library.  I  find  it  neces 
sary  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  arguments  and  of  the  doings  on 
both  sides  on  the  question  of  the  right  to  tax  the  colonies.  I 
do  not  now  write  much.  The  literary  attractions  of  my  period 
(i  761-1 789)  do  not  yet  excite  my  interest.  I  would  gladly  work  in 
general  American  history  and  above  all  in  ethics  and  theology. 

Ithaca,  2  August.  I  become  forty-nine  years  old  to-day. 
Life  grows  rich  and  sweet  as  the  years  accumulate.  Never 
before  have  I  been  so  very  near  the  principle  of  order  in  exis 
tence.  A  year  ago  I  was  at  sea  with  Andrew  D.  White;  two 
years  ago,  alone  in  Paris;  three  years  ago,  at  Hillcroft —  returned 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  193 

there  after  a  month's  stay  at  Ithaca,  rending  my  heartstrings 
over  the  fact  of  abandoning  the  home  of  my  creation  and  of  my 
fondest  love. 

But  my  coming  here  was  indeed  providential!  The  light  that 
shined  upon  me  that  night,  when  I  prayed  for  light,  guided  me 
aright.  The  most  satisfactory  privileges  in  life  have  come  to  me 
here.  Never  before  have  I  been  so  deeply  happy,  soundly, 
solidly  happy.  The  great  fermentations  of  existence  are  done. 
I  have  found  my  niche,  my  sphere,  my  vocation,  my  horizon, 
even  my  burial  place.  So  ends  my  forty-ninth  birthday.  Now 
for  fifty! 

Ithaca,  4  August.  At  work  in  den  as  usual.  Had  some 
reflection  on  the  cruelty  of  gossiping  tongues,  even  to  one's 
dead  ancestors.  Took  exercise  over  my  woodpile.  The  politi 
cal  campaign  as  between  Elaine  and  Cleveland  does  not  much 
interest  me.  It  is  taking  a  low  stratum  of  controversy,  plunging 
into  the  mud  of  private  scandal.  They  are  now  calling  Cleve 
land  "the  second  Aaron  Burr." 


Ithaca,  August  5.  Read  in  Life  of  Samuel  Adams,  and  classi 
fied  some  notes.  Once  more,  after  the  literary  chaos  produced 
by  my  break-up  at  Hillcrof t,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  the  fact  and 
joy  of  order  in  my  literary  apparatus.  Had  intended  to  go  to 
the  cemetery  this  afternoon  to  look  at  lots,  but  a  sharp  shower 
came  just  in  time  to  prevent. 

Ithaca,  ii  August.  Spent  nearly  the  whole  morning  in  notes 
on  Perry's  Life  of  Lieber  —  a  book  full  of  stimulating  thought 
and  noble  inspiration.  I  am  just  now  getting  into  order  my 
materials  of  all  kinds,  and  am  pushing  deeper  my  investigations 
into  the  thought  at  the  basis  of  our  Revolution,  particularly 
the  English  side  of  the  case. 


i94  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  16  August.  From  nine  to  a  quarter  past  one  at  work 
in  classifying.  Had  expected  to  finish  this  work  with  this  week, 
but  failed.  I  have  been  handling  the  results  of  readings  for  the 
past  three  years,  and  to  do  it  well  takes  much  thought  and  time. 
My  materials  are  now  better  in  hand  than  they  have  been  since 
I  left  my  beloved  study  at  Hillcroft;  and  I  am  now  more  nearly 
adjusted  to  my  new  environment.  The  anguish  I  have  suffered 
from  the  break-up  at  Hillcroft  will  constitute  a  permanent  warning 
against  another  break-up  —  except  for  overpowering  reasons. 
The  conviction  settles  upon  me  that  not  in  parochial  work,  but 
as  a  writer,  student,  teacher,  and  preacher  in  my  present  academic 
relation  to  the  world,  I  am  to  serve  my  Master;  and  that  now  at 
forty-nine  I  have  no  more  outward  changes  either  in  occupation 
or  residence  to  prepare  for. 

Ithaca,  26  August.  It  marks  my  present  state  of  feeling  about 
life  and  death  that  I  to-day  completed  the  purchase  of  a  lot 
in  the  cemetery  here,  near  the  campus.  It  also  denotes  my 
feeling  that  I  have  come  here  to  stay.  A  gradual  conviction 
has  filtered  through  my  consciousness  that  here  I  have  found 
my  work,  my  home,  my  grave. 

Of  course  in  this  I  may  be  wrong.  But  of  this  I  am  certain: 
Death  may  come  to  a  family  at  any  moment;  it  is  a  bitter  thing 
then  to  inquire  where  the  lifeless  body  can  be  laid,  and  to  go 
scrambling  about  on  such  a  quest;  and  I  have  thought  it  wise 
to  be  sure  of  this  portion  of  God's  acre  for  us  now,  in  life  and  in 
health.  But  lest  the  fact  should  give  pain,  I  have  not  men 
tioned  it  to  any  one  of  the  family;  and  shall  name  it  as  a  thing 
formerly  done. 

Ithaca,  30  September.  Senior  seminary.  First  meeting.  The 
best  organization  I  have  yet  had  here.  Indeed  all  my  classes 
are  in  better  shape  than  ever  before.  I  am  ridding  them  of  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  195 

old  Cornell  looseness  in  work.  Read  in  evening  in  Life  of  Maurice 
—  a  book  too  diffuse  and  clumsy.  I  want  to  try  my  hand  at 
a  Life  some  day.  I  feel  as  if  I  could. 

Ithaca,  Sunday,  26  October.  Drove  to  Ludlowville  and  offici 
ated.  Returned  home  to  dinner.  The  day  was  cold  and 
clear  and  the  autumn  tints  of  the  leaves  very  rich.  Was  so  tired 
that  I  went  to  bed  at  three,  utterly  fagged  out. 

This  shows  that  I  cannot  safely  omit  my  summer  vacation 
and  the  sea  air.  I  am  below  par  in  strength  this  year.  It 
does  not  pay. 

Sadly  I  draw  a  final  conclusion  of  despair  respecting  my  physi 
cal  capacity  for  work  in  any  active  way  as  a  preacher.  I  need 
no  longer  drift  on  this  subject.  I  am  unfit  for  rector,  or  even 
much  preaching.  I  am  in  my  right  place  and  work  as  a  teacher 
and  a  writer.  God  help  me  to  make  the  most  of  it!  This  en 
forced  conclusion  is  a  relief  to  me  also.  It  gives  fixedness,  con 
centration,  and  content. 

Let  me  often  think  of  Dr.  Arnold,  of  Rugby,  and  see  my  op 
portunity  here  even  for  moral  and  spiritual  results. 

Ithaca,  3  November.  This  is  the  last  day  of  an  election  cam- 
paign]culminating  in  anger  and  filth.  H says  there  are  a  thou 
sand  purchasable  votes  in  this  county,  at  an  average  of  thirteen 
dollars  apiece.  He  seemed  fearful  of  Cleveland's  defeat  through 
the  lavish  use  of  money  by  the  Elaine  party.  He  thought  that 
Jay  Gould  couldn't  afford  to  have  Elaine  defeated.  The  out 
look  for  republican  institutions  has  a  dismal  view  in  that  quarter. 

Ithaca,  7  November.  Cleveland  stock  is  up  to-day.  The 
Albany  evening  journal  conceded  his  election  and  Jay  Gould 
has  telegraphed  his  congratulations;  yet  the  Tribune  insists 
that  Elaine  has  the  state  and  is  elected.  Both  parties  clamor 
ously  celebrated  the  victory  to-night. 


196  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  8  November.  The  National  Republican  Committee 
and  many  leading  editors  in  the  state,  and  Elaine  himself,  in 
sist  that  New  York  had  given  a  majority  to  the  Republicans. 
This  is  sternly  denied  by  the  Democrats  and  by  such  clear 
headed  papers  as  the  Times.  We  are  on  the  verge  of  a  great 
national  peril.  Any  other  race  than  the  Anglo-Saxon  would  have 
got  to  blood-letting  forty-eight  hours  ago  over  such  a  dispute. 
The  Democrats  in  some  cases  talk  fierce  talk.  One  regiment  of 
them  publicly  offers  its  services  to  Cleveland.  Still  the  pre 
vailing  tone  on  both  sides  is  cooler  and  more  sensible.  We 
have  a  legal  way  of  settling  the  dispute.  We  must  not  resort 
to  blows.  Yet  the  danger  has  awful  possibilities. 

Ithaca,  10  November.  Spent  two  hours  this  evening  in  reading 
the  New  York  papers.  The  danger  increases  of  a  prolonged 
uncertainty  as  to  the  result.  The  tone  of  both  sides  is  very 
determined,  and  here  and  there  a  declaimer  makes  threats. 

The  following  letter  from  Governor  Cleveland  is  printed  in 
to-day's  paper.  Its  modesty,  conscientiousness,  and  solemnity 
are  in  a  vein  of  self-reference  not  latterly  observed  in 
public  men,  and  especially  reminding  one  of  Lincoln  and 
Washington: 

"London,  8  November,  1884.  Mr.  Harold  Frederic,  the 
London  correspondent  of  the  New  York  times,  contributes  an 
article  to  this  evening's  Pall  Mall  gazette,  in  which  he  quotes 
from  a  private  and  hitherto  unpublished  letter  from  Governor 
Cleveland,  dated  October  3,  1884,  as  follows:  'Imagine  a  man 
standing  in  my  place,  with  positively  no  ambition  for  a  higher 
place  than  he  now  holds,  in  constant  apprehension  that  he  may 
be  called  upon  to  assume  duties  which  are  the  greatest  and 
highest  that  a  human  being  can  take  upon  himself.  I  cannot 
look  upon  the  prospect  of  success  in  this  campaign  with 
any  joy,  but  only  with  a  serious  kind  of  awe.  Is  this  right?'  " 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  197 

Ithaca,  ii  November.  The  official  count  for  this  state  begins 
to-day.  Result  will  not  be  ready  perhaps  before  Tuesday. 
Conkling  appears  as  the  leading  counsel  for  the  Democratic 
committee  in  New  York.  There  is  something  dramatic  in 
his  appearing  upon  the  field  at  this  moment  to  strike  perhaps 
a  deadly  blow  at  his  old  enemy.  It  is  said  that  during  the  recent 
canvass  he  was  informed  that  Mr.  Elaine  desired  him  to  speak 
for  hun.  His  reply  was:  "Tell  Mr.  Elaine  that  I  have  gone 
out  of  criminal  practice." 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

November  n,  1884,  Cornell  University 
DEAR  BROTHER: 

Your  letter  of  the  third  was  very  interesting,  especially  the 
description  of  your  interview  with  our  next  President.  I  have 
been  much  impressed  by  his  modesty  and  his  unambitious  at 
titude.  The  letter  of  his,  lately  published  in  London,  in  which 
he  speaks  of  looking  forward  to  the  possibility  of  the  presidency 
with  a  sort  of  awe,  and  without  joy,  reminds  one  of  the  tone  of 
our  best  Presidents  —  precisely  that  of  Lincoln  and  Washing 
ton.  How  dramatic  is  Conkling's  appearance  on  the  field  to 
dash  down  his  old  enemy! 

Affectionately,  MOSES. 

Dec.  20.  My  last  lecture  was  given  yesterday.  Have  had  no 
interruption  in  class  engagements;  have  given  my  whole  time 
and  strength  to  the  preparation  of  my  lectures.  It  has  been 
the  strongest  term's  work  I  have  ever  done,  and  I  am  sure  it  has 
told.  Evidently  I  must  give  most  of  my  time  this  year  to  the 
same  employment;  then  my  lectures  will  be  in  a  shape  to  allow 
of  my  pushing  forward  upon  the  History  —  without  fear  of  the 
enemy  behind  me. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

1885  — 1887 

New  York,  i  January.  I  arrived  last  night.  Sauntered  about 
the  streets,  going  into  Jerry  McAuley's  Mission.  I  reflected  on  the 
many  times  I  have  passed  in  New  York  the  last  night  of  the  year, 

Thus,  to  take  recent  cases,  in  1872-1873,  when  I  met  Oliver 
Johnson  at  Frothingham's  service,  and  had  the  first  intimation 
of  his  being  on  the  Christian  union,  and  of  his  wish  to  have  me 
there.  Then,  December  31,  1873,  when  I  was  on  the  paper,  and 
had  discovered  that  my  removal  was  a  mistake.  By  December 
31,  1874,  I  was  once  more  living  in  Ann  Arbor;  but  that  night 
I  passed  with  Frank  Carpenter,  partly  at  F.  D.  Moulton's 
and  Theodore  Tilton's  and  partly  in  a  walk  up  Broadway, 
passing  Grace  Church  at  midnight  and  talking  over  the  horrible 
Beecher  business.  Ten  years  ago!  ...  I  have  been  quite 
alone  all  day.  My  thoughts  have  been  both  in  the  future  and 
in  the  past;  and  much  in  prayer.  I  think  I  never  before  had  so 
few  and  so  feeble  ties  to  this  world,  nor  ever  began  a  year  with  so 
conscious  a  willingness  not  to  see  the  end  of  it.  Indeed  always 
before  this  I  have  both  desired  and  expected  to  live.  I  am  con 
tent  to  continue  in  life  a  long  time  if  it  be  God's  will;  indeed,  I 
should  rather  like  to  carry  out  certain  plans  of  work.  Yet  I 
feel  as  never  before  perfect  rest  in  God's  hands;  no  purpose  of 
my  own  independent  of  His;  and  a  conviction  that  other  worlds 
to  which  I  am  going  will  give  me  useful  employment  and  growth. 

New  York,  3  January.  Called  on  Edward  Eggleston  and  saw 
him  and  his  wife  at  their  lodgings.  He  is  taking  on  a  fine,  ven- 

108 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  199 

erable  look,  rather  of  the  big  literary  patriarch  kind;  told  me  of 
his  fireproof  study,  etc.     At  which,  pangs. 

New  York,  8  January.  Gave  first  of  four  lectures  to-night 
before  General  Theological  Seminary  at  St.  Peter's  Hall,  on  Whig 
writings  prior  to  1775.  Had  a  good  audience  and  a  good  time. 

New  York,  9  January.  Lectured  on  Hopkinson.  Larger 
audience. 

New  York,  12  January.  Lectured  on  the  Tories.  A  large 
audience.  Didn't  enjoy  it. 

[The  last  lecture  on  January  i3th,  on  Philip  Freneau,  the 
Whig  satirist,  was  given  to  a  very  large  audience  and  is  referred 
to  in  a  New  York  paper  as  follows:] 

"  Professor  Tyler  delivered  his  fourth  and  last  lecture  last  even 
ing  in  St.  Peter's  Hall  before  the  Episcopal  seminarians  and  a 
thoroughly  appreciative  audience  which  filled  the  room.  The 
remarkable  interest  which  these  lectures  have  so  steadily  devel 
oped  would  suggest  the  expediency  of  a  repetition  of  the  course 
in  a  large  hall  more  centrally  located.  His  line  of  thought  and 
illustration  gathered  chiefly  about  Philip  Freneau,  who  was  of 
good  Huguenot  stock,  descended  from  a  line  of  New  York  mer 
chants.  He  was  clearly  enough  the  satirical  gladiator  of  the 
Revolution.  If  he  hated  the  British  with  an  uncommon  hatred, 
he  perhaps  inherited  the  privilege  of  doing  so  along  with  his 
French  blood  and  his  French  name. 

"Graduated  at  Princeton  in  the  class  of  1771,  he  sympathized 
with  the  earliest  movements  of  the  Revolution.  .  Other  Whig 
satirists  may  have  had  a  playful  vein;  Freneau  almost  never.  His 
ordinary  stroke  is  keen,  but  heavy  and  hard;  he  is  the  poet  of 
hatred.  He  carefully  trained  himself  for  his  function  by  study 
ing  the  Roman  and  French  masterpieces  in  satire;  but  his  great 
models  were  Dryden,  Poe,  and  especially  Churchill.  He  began 
his  career  at  a  fortunate  moment,  when  just  such  a  satirist  was 


200  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

needed,  and  when  the  materials  for  just  such  satire  —  sincere, 
wrathful,  Juvenalian  satire  —  were  furnished  to  him  in  abund 
ance  by  the  conduct  of  the  English  government  and  of  its  civil 
and  military  representatives  in  America. 

"A  running  commentary  on  his  revolutionary  satires  would 
be  an  almost  complete  commentary  on  the  whole  revolutionary 
struggle,  nearly  every  important  emergency  and  phase  of  which 
are  photographed  in  his  keen,  merciless,  and  often  brilliant  lines. 
In  connection  with  a  writer  like  Freneau,  it  is  natural  to  think  of 
the  long  strife  of  the  Revolution  not  so  much  as  a  strife  of  arms, 
as  a  strife  of  wit  and  anger,  of  ridicule  and  recrimination. 

"This  sort  of  warfare  was  vigorously  maintained  by  Freneau 
from  1775,  when,  in  such  poems  as  The  midnight  consultations, 
Libera  Nos  Domine,  and  The  rebel,  he  satirized  Gage  and  Bur- 
goyne  and  Lord  Percy  and  the  blundering  proceedings  of  the 
British  troops  down  to  1783,  when  he  dismissed  them  with  The 
prophecy;  and  during  the  interval,  George  III,  Lord  North,  the 
Howes,  Cornwallis,  the  American  Tories,  the  apostate  Arnold, 
the  British  prison-ships,  and  the  Tory  printers,  Rivington  and 
Hugh  Gaine,  are  the  subjects  of  his  poignant  verses." 

Ithaca,  24  January.  Worked  all  the  morning  on  lectures  on 
Colonial  governments.  News  of  an  awful  dynamite  outrage  in 
London;  explosions  in  the  Tower,  in  Westminster  Hall,  and  the 
House  of  Commons.  Anarchy  is  abroad. 

Ithaca,  29  January.  The  civilized  world  is  pausing  in  horror 
before  the  dynamite  outrages  in  London. 

Ithaca,  30  January.  Spent  half  an  hour  in  inspection  of  work 
at  Hillcroft.  The  return  of  that  name  into  my  life  sweetens  it. 
How  I  loved  that  home!  How  my  heart  bleeds  and  moans  for  it 
still!  And  my  study,  and  those  old  places  and  doings!  But  a 
light  shone  down  into  my  spirit  from  heaven,  and  guided  me  hither 
—  through  much  trial  and  loss.  I  think  it  was  light  from  heaven. 
But  what  it  all  means  will  be  made  clear,  perhaps,  some  day. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  201 

Oneida,  2  February.  At  five,  left  for  Oneida,  where  I  arrived 
at  about  half-past  eight.  On  train  met  Garrett,  of  north  Texas, 
a  most  vivacious,  not  to  say  rollicking,  prelate. 

Oneida,  3  February.  At  half-past  nine  the  clergy  attending 
diocesan  conference  entered  the  church  in  processional.  Holy 
Communion.  A  sacred  time;  the  divine  presence.  Then  the 
Bishop  gave  us  a  wonderful  address  on  the  spiritual  attitude 
and  life  of  the  clergyman;  wise,  searching,  most  solemn,  and 
tender.  At  three  in  the  afternoon  session  resumed.  The  last 
thing  was  my  paper.  In  the  evening  Bishop  Garrett  preached 
an  impassioned  and  brilliant  missionary  sermon. 

Oneidaj  4  February.  Holy  Communion  at  quarter-past  seven. 
The  Bishop  officiated,  looking  like  an  apostle  —  like  St.  Peter. 
It  was  a  time  of  deep  spiritual  joy  to  me. 

Ithaca,  7  February.  In  the  evening  called  on  Bishop  Garrett. 
He  was  rippling  and  boiling  over  with  fun;  too  much  so  for  a 
bishop,  I  think. 

Ithaca,  13  February.  At  eight,  junior  seminary;  at  three, 
senior.  From  four  to  six  forty-five,  faculty  meeting.  A  dead 
waste  of  time,  patience,  and  health. 

Ithaca,  ig  February.  News  that  Gladstone's  government  is 
likely  to  suffer  defeat.  We  all  grieve  over  the  fate,  while  proud 
of  the  manhood  of  Gordon. 

Ithaca,  5  March.  At  eight  gave  the  seniors  my  fifth  and  last 
lecture  on  Andrew  Jackson  —  dealing  with  his  crime  against 
the  civil  service,  a  timely  topic.  The  rest  of  the  forenoon  I 
devoted  to  my  new  lecture  on  The  campaign  of  1850.  Read 
account  of  Cleveland's  inauguration,  and  his  compact,  sensible, 
and  well-spirited  address.  Felt  tired  in  the  evening.  Read 
part  of  Stanley's  chapter  on  Socrates. 


202  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  9  March.  I  got  to  my  den  at  nine  and  worked  till 
half-past  twelve  on  Campaign  of  1840.  I  am  composing  it  on 
my  typewriter,  which  I  use  more  and  more. 

Ithaca,  15  April.  Till  eleven  worked  on  lectures  on  American 
revolution;  then  till  half  past  twelve  finished  first  volume  of 
S.  G.  Goodrich's  Autobiography  —  an  egregious  example  of 
long-windedness. 

Ithaca,  28  May.  This  noon  I  gave  my  last  lecture  to  the 
seniors  and  am  looking  forward  to  release  from  my  heavy  labors 
—  the  heaviest  and  most  fatiguing  that  I  remember.  I  have  bent 
down  over  my  class  lectures  all  the  year,  and  revised  them  all 
and  composed  many  new  ones,  and  upon  the  top  of  this  have 
been  the  cares  of  building,  moving,  and  settling.  My  plan  is 
now  to  gather  up  the  odds  and  ends  of  work  and  begin  once 
more  on  my  third  volume,  and  to  get  in  two  months  of  work  before 
I  go  to  the  seaside  in  August. 

Ithaca,  May  jo.  Worked  till  twelve  on  notes  of  readings  and 
for  an  hour  rested  in  Peter  Parley's  Autobiography.  In  after 
noon  had  a  delightful  ride.  All  nature  was  young,  beautiful, 
and  fragrant.  My  heart  was  very  joyous. 

New  York,  2  August.  I  am  fifty  years  old  to-day.  Here 
I  am,  alone,  started  for  my  summer's  rest  at  'Sconset.  I  cannot 
write  my  thoughts  on  this  tremendous  birthday.  I  seem  to 
pass  the  line  now  toward  old  age.  Arithmetically  I  am  no  longer 
a  young  man;  nay,  scarcely  a  middle-aged  one;  but  my  heart 
is  not  old.  What  remains  of  my  life  —  here,  O  God,  I  dedicate 
to  Thee.  Use  it  and  me  as  Thou  wilt.  I  worked  for  Thee,  not 
for  myself.  Taking  the  duty  of  an  invalid  I  did  not  attend 
church,  but  devoted  myself  to  absorbing  sea  air.  Went  by  boat 
to  Manhattan  Beach;  and  after  remaining  there  in  quiet  obser- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  203 

vation  and  thought  for  several  hours,  returned  in  the  same 
manner.  The  spectacle  of  this  great  city  in  mourning  is  a  very 
touching  one,  and  impressive.  The  symbols  of  grief  and  homage 
for  Grant  are  hung  out  by  all  classes  and  in  all  sorts  of  streets. 
The  fronts  of  some  of  the  great  buildings,  like  Wallack's  and 
the  Fifth  Avenue  hotel,  are  a  mass  of  rich  and  imposing  symbol 
ism..  On  the  City  Hall  are  some  tawdry  verses,  and  a  sentence 
of  rodomontade,  but  generally  the  inscriptions  are  simple,  brief, 
and  touching.  "His  First  and  Last  Surrender."  "He  fought 
for  his  life  as  he  fought  for  his  country."  His  portraits  wreathed 
in  the  mourning  are  everywhere  exhibited. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

1886—1887 

Ithaca,  4  January,  1886.  At  my  office  most  of  the  morning; 
worked  on  the  Life  of  E.  K.  Apgar.  Also  put  some  papers  in 
order.  In  afternoon  a  heavy  rain;  instead  of  going  out,  sawed 
wood  in  the  cellar  —  a  rather  dark  but  perspiring  operation.  In 
the  evening  went  to  office  and  also  called  on  C.  K.  Adams,  who  had 
just  returned.  Gave  me  an  account  of  his  visit  to  New  Haven. 
Tim  Dwight  writing  with  his  eyes  close  to  his  knees. 

[E.  K.  Apgar  was  Edgar  Kelsey  Apgar,  a  politician  —  as  such 
considered,  by  his  friends,  rather  above  the  average.  Harold 
Frederic,  to  whom  he  was  a  warm  friend,  spoke  of  him  as  "  tower- 
ingly  superior  mentally"  to  other  politicians  and  as  exhibiting 
"unselfish  patriotism."] 

Ithaca,  22  January,  1886.  Wrote  to  John  T.  Morse  to  ask 
whether  my  promise  to  write  Patrick  Henry  for  his  series  is 
outlawed.  I  am  depressed  about  my  History.  Perhaps  an 
excursion  into  another  field  will  restore  my  spirits. 

Ithaca,  24  January,  1886.  Sunday.  Being  brain- weary,  did 
not  go  to  church.  Lay  on  my  back,  and  thought  and  prayed. 
Am  meditating  on  the  plan  of  writing  a  Life  of  Patrick  Henry. 

Ithaca,  i  February,  1886.  Letter  from  J.  T.  Morse,  jr.,  settles 
me  in  plan  of  writing  Patrick  Henry.  Began  work  on  it  at 
eleven,  and  did  more  in  the  evening.  Shall  first  run  over  the 
existing  lives  —  beginning  with  Wirt. 

204 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  205 

Ithaca,  5  February,  1886.  Read  carefully  over  the  Fontaine 
manuscript,  and  was  moved  to  write  the  first  paragraph  of  the 
first  chapter.  In  afternoon  with  Cutler  carried  in  debris  from 
the  new  stable  —  i.  e.,  the  kindling  wood.  Greatly  enjoyed  real 
bodily  labor;  it  reminded  me  of  some  of  the  pleasures  of  dear 
old  lost  Hillcrof t. 

Ithaca,  6  February,  1886.  Writing  and  studying  on  Patrick 
Henry.  Wrote  a  bit  on  his  inherited  qualities  and  the  talents 
of  his  family  on  both  sides.  It  quite  reanimates  to  get  at  real 
literary  work  again. 

Ithaca,  7  August,  1886.  I  have  worked  on  Patrick  Henry 
steadily  till  now.  Have  done  first  eight  chapters  —  to  end  of 
Continental  Congress.  Have  had  almost  no  interruptions  since 
my  return  from  the  Historical  Association  in  May.  Must  knock- 
off  now  and  take  a  complete  rest  at  the  seaside  for  a  month. 

Ithaca,  5  November,  1886.  This  evening  at  nine  I  finished 
revision  of  Chapter  X  —  Patrick  Henry  as  a  soldier.  My  labor 
has  been  very  strict  and  steady  upon  the  book. 

Ithaca,  6  November,  1886.  Worked  till  one  on  some  gaps  in 
Chapter  IX  which  I  had  left  until  I  could  get  some  expected 
material  from  W.  W.  Henry.  Had  hoped  to  finish  it  to-day,  but 
shall  need  another  morning  for  it. 

Ithaca,  8  November,  1886.    From  half-past  nine  to  one  worked 
on  Chapter  IX.    Not  quite  done  yet!    But  what  is  time?    Thor-  -- 
oughness  and  care  are  the  things. 

Ithaca,  17  November,  1886.  Made  much  more  progress  than 
usual  on  ,the  first  draft,  which  seemed  to  write  itself;  but 
had  not  time  to  put  through  the  typewriter  only  as  far  as  p.  20. 
My  work  to-day  is  the  struggle  in  Virginia  between  the  aristo- 


206  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

cratic  and  democratic  influences  in  the  first  state  constitution 
of  Virginia. 

Ithaca,  22  November,  1886.  From  nine  to  twelve  forty- 
five,  on  a  final  revision  of  Chapter  XII  (formerly  XI),  which 
I  have  spent  two  weeks  on.  It  is  done  and  in  the  vault. 

Ithaca,  26  November,  1886.  Got  on  well  with  Patrick,  but 
am  seriously  retarded  by  not  having  the  Journal  of  Virginia 
house  of  delegates.  A  letter  from  Spofford  says  he  is  not  per 
mitted  to  send  books  out  of  Washington.  Wrote  again  to  W.  W. 
Henry  and  others  for  books.  Till  they  come  I  am  stuck.  How 
ever,  the  time  is  not  wasted. 

Ithaca,  30  November,  1886.  The  books  came  this  morning. 
In  an  hour  got  two  or  three  items  of  great  value.  Pushed  on 
with  exhilaration  and  vim.  Wrote  to  W.  W.  Henry  urging  him 
to  run  up  here  for  a  visit. 

Ithaca,  4  December,  1886.  Had  a  great  flow  of  composition 
all  the  forenoon  on  the  dictatorship  question;  wrote  about 
twenty  pages,  which  will  need  to  be  carefully  revised. 

Ithaca,  8  December,  1886.  Pushing  through  Patrick's  first 
year  as  governor.  Hated  to  stop  for  dinner.  Brain  at  full 
tilt. 

Ithaca,  10  January,  1887.  Letter  from  J.  T.  Morse  says  he 
wants  to  begin  printing  Patrick  at  once,  if  the  publishers  can 
feel  it  safe  to  begin  with  an  unfinished  copy. 

Ithaca,  21  January,  1887.  Pitched  into  Patrick  like  fun,  and 
tried  to  make  up  for  lost  time  yesterday.  Succeeded  in  part. 
Am  dealing  with  his  legislative  career  1781-4. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  207 

Ithaca,  24  January,  1887.  A  letter  from  Morse  asks  me 
to  telegraph  him  how  much  more  copy  I  shall  have,  so  that  the 
printer  may  make  his  estimates.  "Probably  two  hundred 
additional  pages  of  manuscript  unless  you  object." 

Ithaca,  29  January,  1887.  Worked  heavily  over  materials 
for  Patrick  Henry's  work  on  the  new  constitution,  and  knocked 
off  under  fatigue.  All  the  week  rests  on  me. 

Ithaca,  ji  January,  1887.  Letter  from  Morse  tells  of  the 
excess  of  materials.  Troublesome.  Wish  I  were  publishing  in 
my  own  way. 

Ithaca,  16  February,  1887.  Wrote  to  Morse  asking  if  he 
wishes  manuscript  all  returned.  Can't  shorten  what  has  been 
written.  Will  try  to  shorten  what  remains. 

Ithaca,  ig  February,  1887.  Finished  revision  of  Chapter 
XVIII;  but  must  spend  a  few  hours  verifying  quotations.  This 
point  reached,  what  remains  is  comparatively  easy.  I  feel 
nearing  the  end.  The  brain  work  this  week  has  been  close  and 
intense,  and  I  feel  it. 

Ithaca,  21  March,  1887.  At  work  without  interruption  on 
the  last  chapter  of  Patrick's  life.  The  chimes  are  now  ringing 
for  one  o'clock,  and  I  have  just  finished  copying  the  last  words. 
His  death,  which  I  have  just  described,  seemed  very  real  and 
personal  to  me,  and  my  eyes  were  moist  as  I  wrote. 

Ithaca,  25  March,  1887.  A  telegram  from  Morse  announces 
the  reception  in  Boston  of  Patrick  Henry.  Now  remains  to  be 
heard  the  report  of  the  printer  on  the  manuscript.  Can  it  be 
squeezed  into  so  small  a  space  ?  Am  writing  preface  —  a  thing 
I  dearly  love  to  do.  It  was  in  me  to  say,  and  had  to  come  out 
of  me.  I  have  a  feeling  in  me  which  I  am  trying  to  satisfy  as 
to  what  it  should  be. 


208  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  30  March,  1887.  Am  dawdling  to-day.  Have  little 
energy.  Probably  I  feel  the  reaction  from  long  and  close  work. 
A  week  off  would  be  good  just  now;  but  it  isn't  practicable. 
Of  late  have  had  an  idea  of  blending  my  projected  literary  study 
of  the  American  revolution  with  the  general  study  of  it  —  pre 
senting  the  whole  in  topics  somewhat  after  the  method  of  Lecky. 
It  means  many  years  of  work;  perhaps  greater  resources  than  I 
have;  yet  toward  it  my  studies  have  unconsciously  tended  for 
many  years.  Am  waiting  for  the  decision  of  the  printer.  Per 
haps  it  will  come  with  the  first  galley  proof.  Am  still  a  sick 
man,  as  it  were.  My  cold  clings  and  gets  increase.  One  of  my 
greatest  needs  is  the  frequent  review  of  my  own  records  of  former 
work,  and  a  taking  account  of  stock. 

Ithaca,  5  April,  1887.  Studying  navigation  and  trade  laws 
of  England  —  in  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Statutes 
at  large.  This  for  lectures;  ultimately  for  my  new  History  of 
the  American  revolution.  Delighted  to  be  at  the  sources. 

Ithaca,  6  September,  1887.  Study  of  first  constitution  of  New 
Hampshire  for  lectures.  My  mind  dwells  kindly  upon  the 
plan  of  writing  a  history  of  the  revolution  somewhat  after  the 
method  of  Lecky. 

Ithaca,  16  September,  1887.  At  half-past  three  this  afternoon, 
as  I  was  about  to  use  the  lawn  mower,  I  saw  the  National  Express 
wagon  drive  up  and  produce  a  small  square  parcel  from  Hough- 
ton,  Mifflin  and  Company.  It  was  the  first  ten  copies  of  Pat 
rick  Henry.  .>' 
\ 

Ithaca,  26  September,  1887.  Received  a  letter  from  George 
Bancroft  about  my  new  book,  on  the  whole  the  most  valuable 
compliment  I  ever  had. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  209 

LETTER  FROM  GEORGE  BANCROFT  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Newport,  R.  I.,  September  24, 1887 
DEAR  BROTHER  HISTORIAN: 

Many  thanks,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  book  on  Patrick  Henry. 
It  is  thoroughly  and  excellently  well  done  and  so  fascinating 
that  it  would  let  me  attend  to  nothing  else  until  I  had  finished 
it.  You  have  said  all  that  there  was  to  be  said;  you  have  said 
it  thoroughly  well;  you  have  rejected  all  the  trash  called  tra 
dition  which  cannot  stand  the  test  of  historic  criticism.  In 
retirement  Patrick  Henry  could  well  say:  "The  American  rev 
olution  is  the  grand  operation  assigned  by  the  Deity  to  the  men 
of  this  age  in  our  country";  and  he  plainly  felt  happy  in  the  as 
surance  that  he  himself  was  one  of  the  most  important  of  those 
men.  Only  I  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  that  Patrick  Henry 
pronounced  the  alien  and  sedition  laws  good  and  proper. 

Ever  most  truly  yours, 

GEORGE  BANCROFT. 

Ithaca,  30  September,  1887.  Andrew  D.  White  greeted  me  this 
morning  with  his  old  time  brightness;  thanked  me  for  a  copy  of 
Patrick,  and  added  that  he  couldn't  help  puzzling  over  that 
visit  of  Colonel  Byrd  to  the  sprightly  widow.  "Suppose  he  had 
married  her,  who  would  Patrick  Henry  have  been?" 

Ithaca,  Q  October,  1887.  Yesterday  came  a  batch  of  news 
paper  notices  from  the  publishers.  In  the  main  pleasant  — 
though  none  truly  critical  or  thorough.  In  evening  read  in 
Life  of  Longfellow.  Many  personal  allusions  of  great  interest 
to  me.  Still  the  work  is  fearfully  padded  with  unimportant 
matter. 

Ithaca,  15  October,  1887.  A  batch  of  newspaper  notices  about 
Patrick  Henry.  A  low  growl  from  the  Jeffersonians  in  the 
Richmond  dispatch.  May  indicate  more.  Hope  so.  Met 


2io  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Adams  coming  out  of  his  office,  and  walked  with  him  half  an  hour. 
Asked  his  advice  about  my  literary  plans:  First,  shall  I  write 
(a)  History  of  the  American  revolution;  (b)  Life  of  Washington; 
(c)  New  edition  of  writings  of  Washington  ? 

He  advised  me  against  the  latter  (c)  as  taking  years  which 
I  can't  now  spare  and  involving  work  of  a  lower  grade  than  I 
might  be  doing;  but  thought  I  should  do  (b)  and  then  (a).  Even 
ing  at  home.  Read  aloud  a  little  to  the  family  in  Dickens's 
American  notesy  which  seem  like  antediluvian  history. 

Ithaca,  if  October ',  1887.  Am  tending  to  resume  plan  of  writ 
ing  History  of  the  American  revolution.  C.  K.  Adams's  talk 
has  steadied  and  spurred  me.  Read  in  library.  Class  work 
takes  the  stuff  out  of  a  fellow.  I  much  prefer  lawn  tennis.  I 
get  newspaper  notices  of  Patrick  Henry  every  day,  generally  of 
a  helpful  tone;  some  of  them  flippant  and  trashy. 

Ithaca,  i  November,  1887.  Began  Whitney's  Grammar  and 
Reader  in  preparation  for  our  journey  to  Europe  next  March. 
Trying  to  recover  lost  ground,  being  rusty.  Shall  keep  rubbing 
the  rust  off  from  now  till  next  September  and  hope  to  be  a  rather 
burnished  Teuton  by  that  time.  Statement  from  the  publishers 
shows  that  Patrick  Henry  was  sold  to  the  number  of  about 
fifteen  hundred  copies  from  September  17  to  September  30. 

Ithaca,  28  November,  1887.  There  came  by  express  to-day  a 
box  from  Washington  which  proved  to  be  a  large  portrait  of 
George  Bancroft,  a  noble  and  touching  present. 


CHAPTER  XV 

1888 

Ithaca,  10  February.  Faculty  meeting  this  afternoon.  It 
is  interesting  to  watch  the  play  of  personal  traits  in  these  meet 
ings.  Working  at  German.  I'm  a  slow  coach  thereat.  Only 
by  continual  pounding  can  I  get  a  thing  into  me.  We  are  in 
suspense  respecting  a  European  war  and  its  possible  bearing 
on  our  plans  for  residence  abroad. 

Ithaca,  26  February.  Still  pounding  away  at  German.  Am 
making  some  impression. 

Ithaca,  8  March.  This  evening  at  a  quarter  to  seven  the  good 
Emperor  William  of  Germany  died  at  his  palace  in  Berlin.  The 
news  was  in  print  here  at  four  in  the  afternoon!  His  death 
makes  a  deep  and  sorrowful  impression  on  the  Teutonic  race; 
and  gives  a  deeper  tint  to  the  pathos  of  the  situation  in  which 
the  imperial  family  are  now  placed  through  the  dangerous  illness 
of  the  Crown  Prince  at  San  Remo. 

Ithaca,  25  March.  At  St.  John's  gave  my  sermon  on  The 
crime  of  Pontius  Pilate.  Being  already  ill,  was  so  much  pros 
trated  that  I  had  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  bed.  So  tired  — 
but  spirit  serene  and  grateful. 

Ithaca,  4  April.  The  situation  in  Europe  looks  alarming. 
Boulanger  is  the  trouble  in  France,  and  the  French  people  are 
children. 

My  health  unsatisfactory.  Spring  weakness  and  depression. 
Suppose  it  is  this  eternal,  disreputable,  ill-mannered  liver  that  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief. 


212  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  10  April.    Felt  quite  well  last  evening  after  my  recent 

illness.    H came  up  to  my  room  and  talked  for  an  hour. 

Consulted  him  about  a  Latin  title  for  a  series  of  volumes  I  am 
planning  on  lives  of  noted  persons  in  this  country.  I  had  thought 
of  Americani  memorabiles;  he  suggested  Viri  memorabiles, 
which  I  shall  adopt  as  giving  me  more  range.  I  want  to  limit 
myself  to  men  in  contact  with  America,  though  they  need  not 
be  Americans.  After  he  left,  my  mind  got  greatly  interested 
in  the  project;  it  would  be  American  history  unfolded  in  a  series 
of  biographies  —  each  being  as  short  as  a  rigorous  exclusion 
of  minor  matters  would  permit.  I  lay  awake  till  nearly  morning, 
though  I  had  much  better  have  been  asleep. 

Ithaca,  16  April.  Had  a  good  sleep  last  night.  After  break 
fast  went  to  my  office  and  did  an  hour's  work.  Home  and 
rested,  then  walked  till  nearly  twelve  —  but  not  as  vigorous 
as  a  bull  calf.  News  that  Matthew  Arnold  died  to-day  at 
Liverpool  of  heart  disease. 

Ithaca,  1 8  April.  Roscoe  Conkling  died  this  morning  and  the 
Emperor  of  Germany  is  said  to  be  on  his  death-bed.  Boulanger 
is  leading  a  shoddy  Caesaristic  movement  in  France.  The  Rus 
sian  forces  are  said  to  be  marching  toward  the  Austrian  frontier. 
The  face  of  the  world  seems  troubled.  My  health  is  still  unsatis 
factory.  This  lazy,  obstructive,  mulish  liver  of  mine  still  re 
fuses  to  do  his  duty.  I  fear  this  climate  is  always  to  be  a  hard 
one  for  me  to  live  in,  especially  if  I  am  to  be  without  horseback 
riding. 

Ithaca,  28  April.  At  a  reception  met  Goldwin  Smith,  with 
whom  I  talked  about  Canadian  politics,  which  he  despises;  says 
politics  is  divided  on  no  principle;  is  petty,  mean,  and  corrupt 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  213 

in  its  method;  that  no  man  of  self-respect  can  engage  in  political 
life  there,  in  consequence  of  the  self -compromising  engagements 
he  must  make.  He  spoke  of  Sir  John  Macdonald  as  an  old  fox, 
a  cunning  old  politician,  capable  of  every  pretence  and  hypocrisy, 
lately  standing  up  in  a  revival  meeting  to  be  prayed  for,  and  all 
to  catch  revivalist  votes;  not  in  the  least  resembling  Disraeli  — 
to  whom  he  has  often  been  compared.  I  was  to  hear  Gold  win 
Smith  discuss  the  author  of  Lothair  —  whom  he  described  as 
a  phrase-maker  in  politics,  a  manufacturer  of  platforms  and 
of  political  catchwords,  and  of  fertile  imagination  —  all  of  which 
Sir  John  was  not. 

Ithaca,  29  April.  Goldwin  Smith's  talks  here  have  had  many 
good  personal  bits.  John  Bright  once  asked  him  who  was  the 
greatest  citizen  that  England  ever  had;  and  when  Goldwin 
Smith  replied  that  he  could  not  tell,  Bright  said:  "John  Milton; 
for  besides  his  supreme  greatness  in  literature,  and  especially 
in  poetry,  he  was  most  active,  courageous,  and  influential  in  the 
practical  duties  of  the  state."  He  told  of  the  enormous  physical 
endurance  of  some  famous  Englishmen,  such  as  Brougham,  for 
example.  He  said  he  could  work  day  and  night  for  a  week  and 
have  no  sleep  except  what  he  could  snatch  in  going  to  and  fro 
in  his  carriage.  This  he  did  during  the  trial  of  Queen  Caroline. 
Being  summoned  to  her  one  day,  and  having  not  been  in  bed  for 
nearly  a  week,  he  dropped  asleep  as  soon  as  he  got  into  his  car 
riage  and  slept  till  he  arrived  at  the  palace.  He  was  almost 
incapable  of  fatigue.  Goldwin  Smith  also  told  the  story  of  his 
once  calling  at  the  house  of  Sir  Roundel  Palmer.  The  butler 
hesitated  about  admitting  him;  first  consented,  and  then  said: 
"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  show  you  in;  Sir  Roundel  has  not 
been  in  bed  since  Sunday."  That  was  on  Wednesday.  Sir 
Roundel  was  then  attorney-general  of  England  —  the  most 
laborious  office  in  England. 


2i4  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  6  June.  My  last  university  exercise  this  year.  Ex 
cessively  hot,  94°.  This  sudden  heat  is  overwhelming.  It  is 
now  late  at  night  —  my  last  at  this  Hillcrof t  for  fifteen  months  — 
perhaps  forever.  The  clock  strikes  eleven  as  I  write  this. 

Hannover,  23  June.  For  an  hour  before  breakfast  practised 
on  the  passive  voice;  and  studied  till  Herr  G came  at  half- 
past  eleven.  A  vigorous  Stunde,  till  half-past  one  moistened  by 
a  bottle  of  beer  which  I  placed  on  the  table  for  him.  Nothing 
yet  to  be  learned  about  the  Chicago  convention  and  the  Re 
publican  nomination  for  President  —  though  it  looks  as  though 
Elaine  would  be  nominated  in  spite  of  all  his  protestations  of 
unwillingness.  News  that  Stanley  has  been  wounded  in  mid- 
Africa,  and  is  having  a  rough  time  of  it  with  hordes  of  the  hostile 
natives. 

Hannover,  24  June.  In  morning  at  eleven  to  Marktkirche 
to  attend  mourning  service  in  honor  of  the  late  Frederick  III. 
A  great  church,  built  for  the  Roman  service,  but  having  now 
the  neglected  look  of  Lutheran  places  of  worship.  Service, 
musical  chiefly.  Very  little  appearance  of  devotion  in  the 
congregation. 

Hannover,  4  July.  Here  in  Hannover  we  celebrate  the  national 
holiday  by  pitching  into  the  German  language  with  the  same 
spirit  that  animated  Jefferson  one  hundred  and  twelve  years 
ago  in  pitching  into  the  Elector  of  Hannover. 

Worked  hi  Otto  and  Eisenbach  on  the  auxiliaries.  Think  I 
have  got  on  top  of  them  at  last. 

Hannover,  17  July.  At  half -past  five  I  walked  out  for  my  con 
stitutional.  Went  to  the  schiitzenfest,  but  the  rain  and  mud 
gave  an  extra  touch  of  sordidness  and  vulgarity  to  the  perform 
ance.  It  is  the  coarse  German  boor  at  his  diversions. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  215 

This  Hannover  is  to  me  a  rather  wonderful  city.  In  my 
whole  month  here  I  have  not  seen  a  beggar  nor  a  lewd  woman 
by  day  or  by  night.  No  roughness  of  speech  or  manner;  a 
universal  amenity;  the  voices  of  the  people  soft,  refined,  quiet, 
often  very  musical.  I  call  it  a  civilized  community. 

I  am  greatly  impressed  by  the  identity  in  race  of  these  north 
west  Deutschlanders  with  the  Englanders  and  New  Englanders. 
Twelve  hundred  years  ago  some  of  these  people  settled  in  Eng 
land;  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  some  of  them  who  had 
gone  to  England  settled  in  Massachusetts,  etc.  But  the  race 
type  has  been  preserved  by  all  three  groups.  Most  of  the 
faces  here  are  of  exactly  the  same  look  as  those  of  New  Haven, 
London,  or  Ithaca.  I  feel  that  I  am  here  in  the  Older  Home 
of  our  race;  and  that  in  trying  to  learn  German  I  am  merely 
trying  to  get  the  language  of  my  cousins  —  a  variation,  like 
English,  from  the  ancient  speech  of  our  common  forefathers. 

Hannover,  23  July.  Began  to  work  at  a  quarter  past  nine, 
but  after  an  hour  gave  it  up.  Ging  fort.  Did  errands.  In  the 
afternoon  went  to  the  gardens  of  the  Polytechnicum  and  drank 
of  the  royal  milk,  which  tasted  quite  like  democratic  milk. 

I  am  impressed  by  the  all-pervading  presence  of  the  military 
habit  here.  Soldiers  in  uniform,  officers  in  splendid  dress  and 
with  grand  strides  are  to  be  seen  in  every  street.  Every  morning 
soon  after  daybreak  is  to  be  heard  the  tramp  of  soldiers.  The 
children  wear  uniform  caps  in  the  school  according  to  their 
classes.  From  infancy  they  become  used  to  the  symbolism  of 
dress  and  color  as  designating  graduations  of  rank  and  authority. 
Every  male  person,  is,  was,  or  is  to  be  a  soldier.  The  gait  and 
posture  of  the  citizens  indicate  military  training.  Many  of 
their  little  customs  and  movements  in  the  street — as  salutations — 
are  military.  A  gentleman  from  Bonn  was  here  to  dinner  a  while 
ago,  with  his  wife.  Frau  Schon  told  me  they  had  nine  children, 


216  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

eight  of  them  boys.  I  applauded  him.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "we 
supply  eight  soldiers  to  defend  the  Fatherland." 

Wolfenbuttel,  26  July.  Arrived  here  alone  in  a  pouring  rain. 
Before  supper  took  a  stroll  through  this  quaint  old  town. 

I  am  taking  in  German  through  all  the  pores  of  my  skin. 

Frau  B tells  me  that  the  old  sewing  woman  who  comes  in 

every  morning  to  help  in  the  housework  heard  almost  with 
consternation  that  an  Amerikaner  was  in  the  house,  "1st  er 
sehr  schwarz?"  was  her  first  question.  When  she  entered  the 
room  where  I  was  sitting  to  get  my  boots,  she  sidled  away  from 
me  in  a  sort  of  fear  lest  my  aboriginal,  murderous  propensities 
were  still  unsubdued,  yet  her  curiosity  to  inspect  me  was  also 
very  great,  and  her  investigation  was  a  queer  mixture  of  blink 
ing  and  staring.  Another  old  German  woman  with  whom  I  have 
been  talking  seemed  greatly  impressed  by  the  fact  that  I  was 
from  America,  and  asked  me,  among  other  things,  "if  America 
were  not  twice  as  large  as  Wolfenbiittel." 

We  went  over  to  call  on  Professor  von  Heinemann,  the  chief 
of  this  great  Bibliothek.  Wonderful  collection  of  treasures 
and  a  most  admirable  building.  Held  in  my  hand  the  lead  ink 
stand  which  Luther  threw  at  the  Devil.  Was  very  much  im 
pressed  by  an  original  portrait  of  Luther  which  under  the  glass 
had  the  very  tints  of  life.  Stood  also  in  the  very  room  in  the 
old  house  in  which  Lessing  wrote  Nathan.  Over  the  front  door 
is  the  inscription,  "Hier  lebte,  schrieb,  dichtete  Lessing  1777- 
1781."  Walked  with  Professor  von  Heinemann. 

Said  he  had  no  directors  over  him;  was  kaiser  und  konig. 
The  people  took  off  their  hats  to  him  as  if  they  thought  so  too. 

This  is  a  quaint,  picturesque,  mediaeval  nest  of  a  city.  It 
seems  as  if  I  were  wandering  in  a  mediaeval  community.  The 
placid  and  outre-mer  sentiment  which  fills  my  heart  to-night 
is  something  to  be  recalled  in  after  years.  But  what  a  sad 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  217 

mistake  that  I  did  not  come  to  Germany  when  I  was  a  young 
man!    But  I  am  only  too  grateful  to  be  here  now. 

August  2.  Here  in  Wolfenblittel,  and  to-day  fifty-three  years 
old.  Have  studied  hard  all  day.  Am  hammering  away  at 
Otto. 

Wolfenbuttel,  5  August.  To  Garrison  Kirche  8:30  A.  M.  and 
5:00  P.  M.,  with  much  rest,  peregrination,  and  letter- writing 
between.  Heard  Probst  Emil  Rothe.  He  looks  like  Spurgeon; 
is  the  first  real  orator  I  have  heard  in  Germany;  his  speech  was 
delicious  to  listen  to;  his  action  vivacious  and  natural;  his  spirit 
very  devout  and  earnest.  Was  greatly  attracted  to  him. 

I  am  brooding  over  the  literary  work  I  am  to  undertake  when 
I  go  home.  Strongly  moved  to" try  my  hand  first  at  an  historical 
novel:  Virginia,  1676,  Bacon's  rebellion.  Make  it  faithful  to 
the  facts  of  history;  a  living,  stirring,  vivacious  picture  of  the 
time  and  place. 

Braunschweig,  10  August.  At  ten  we  went  to  the  Museum 
and  spent  two  hours  there  with  great  delight.  Besides  some 
pictures  of  great  importance,  I  was  interested  in  two  rings  of 
Luther's  and  a  ring  of  Maria  Stuart,  and  profoundly  interested 
in  a  full-length  figure  of  Frederick  the  Great,  in  the  very  costume 
he  wore  in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  a  little,  old,  wizened,  spindle- 
shanked,  big-eyed,  sallow  anatomy  of  a  man. 

The  day  has  been  sultry;  last  night  also.  I  lay  awake  several 
hours,  possessed  by  the  project  of  the  novel.  The  scheme  of 
the  plot,  and  many  incidents,  poured  in  upon  my  mind,  and  I 
revelled  in  the  still  delight  of  arranging  them  in  order  in  chapters. 
This  morning  I  have  jotted  down  as  much  of  this  as  time  has 
permitted,  to  save  it  before  it  vanishes  away. 

Blankenburg,  14  August.  I  write  far  up  the  little  mountain 
toward  Teufelsmauer.  We  have  found  a  refined  and  friendly 


218  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

family  in  the  midst  of  glorious  scenery,  with  delicious  air,  quiet, 
fascinating  walks,  and  everything  to  entice  us  to  health  and 
happiness.  To-night,  after  dark,  as  I  was  strolling  alone  near 
the  Hotel  Heidelberg,  I  was  spoken  to  by  a  person  approaching 
me  hurriedly.  I  said  in  English:  "I  beg  your  pardon?" 
He  instantly  replied  with  an  Anglican  accent:  "I  beg  yours; 
I  was  looking  for  a  friend  and  mistook  you  for  him."  Then, 
from  a  little  distance,  he  turned  and  said:  "Are  you  an  Eng 
lishman?"  "No,  I  am  an  American."  "Ah,"  replied  he,  "I 
am  an  Englishman;  so  we  are  cousins."  The  speech  was  gracious 
and  had  for  me  a  pleasant  sound  here  in  the  Hartz. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  MAJOR  TYLER 

Blankenburg  im  Hartz,  August  16,  1888. 
DEAR  BROTHER  JACK: 

On  the  thirteenth  we  came  to  this  most  exquisite  and  ex 
hilarating  place,  amid  famous  historic  and  romantic  scenes, 
where  we  can  drink  in  health  and  strength.  We  are  likely  to 
remain  here  several  weeks  and  then  go  to  Berlin.  .  .  .  We 
have  welcomed  all  your  letters,  newspapers,  etc.  Glad  to  get  all 
personal  news  —  particularly  of  the  canine  sort.  What  you  tell 
us  about  Pip  comforts  the  very  cockles  of  our  hearts.  It  may 
not  be  a  gracious  thing  to  say,  but  there  are  not  a  great  many 
two-footed  friends  in  America  over  whom  our  hearts  yearn  as 
they  do  over  that  small  quadruped.  ...  I  wish  you  could 
imagine  what  a  wholesome  spot  this  is,  and  so  cheap.  You  might 
spend  a  half  year  in  the  Hartz  and  make  money  out  of  it. 

With  love,  MOSES. 


Wernigerode,  20  August.  Here  I  am,  alone,  just  settled  in  my 
quaint  little  room,  in  this  ancient  rambling  house  of  Frau  Pas- 
torin  Tappe.  On  the  train  I  met  a  fine  old  English  clergyman 
who  believes  that  the  Teutonic  people  are  descended  from 
Ephraim.  As  I  approached  this  house  to-day  with  my  dienst- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  219 

mann  carrying  my  luggage  in  his  old  wheelbarrow,  I  read  on  the 
wall  of  the  Rauthaus  the  date  1524  A.  D.  I  am  at  last  in  a 
perfectly  unspoiled  German  city,  about  to  taste  a  bit  of  genuine 
German  life  in  a  German  family.  The  air  about  me  here  hath 
an  old-time  flavor,  but  to-day  I  have  felt  depressed  by  the  ap 
palling  difficulty  of  mastering  this  awful  language.  It  seems 
as  if  I  can  never  learn  to  speak  it.  For  this  mood  I  am  prepared; 
and  I  shall  keep  at  work  just  the  same.  I  set  apart  a  year 
for  this  purpose.  The  year  is  to  be  devoted  to  it,  whatever  be 
the  result.  I  am  in  a  good  German  family,  quite  isolated  from 
English  and  even  in  a  typical  old  German  Stadt. 

At  half-past  four,  with  the  same  escort,  walked  through  the 
grounds  of  the  Schloss,  and  witnessed  preparations  for  the 
great  festival  to-morrow  in  celebration  of  the  silver  wedding  of 
the  Graf  of  Wernigerode.  After  Abendessen  we  began  to  read 
in  the  parlor,  but  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a  gun  and  the 
noise  of  fireworks.  Crowds  of  people  were  out.  A  curious 
study  for  me  in  national  habits,  ideas,  and  politics. 

Wernigerode,  23  August.  The  day  has  been  surrendered  to 
the  fest  in  honor  of  the  Graf  and  Grafin.  I  witnessed  the  pro 
cession  of  the  trades  through  the  Stadt  and  the  grounds  of  the 
Schloss,  a  wonderful  spectacle.  In  the  evening  saw  the  Count 
and  Countess  with  their  children  and  guests  ride  through  the 
streets  amid  vast  crowds  of  people,  shouts,  illuminations,  etc. 
How  curious  a  thing  this  is.  Warum?  No  one  can  exactly  tell. 
It  seems  like  a  living  chapter  in  feudalism.  Am  working  at 
both  ends  of  Otto  each  day.  Frau  Tappe  gives  me  anihour  in 
the  morning.  Thear  all  the  German  I  can  contain  and  more  too; 
and  strain  for  utterance.  I  feel  my  impotence  and  imbecility. 
I  am  at  the  point  of  great  darkness  in  the  work.  I  do  not  pro 
pose  to  give  it  up;  but  its  vastness,  complexity,  and  hardness 
oppress  me  with  a  sense  of  the  impossibility  of  my  task. 


220  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Wernigerode,  26  August.  Letter  from  home  containing  sad 
news  in  it.  It  was  that  my  beloved  Bishop  Harris  died  on  Tues 
day  last,  August  21,  at  the  Langham  Hotel  in  London.  When  I 
first  saw  him  in  the  pulpit  he  seemed  to  me  like  the  Archangel 
Michael,  and  I  have  always  since  then  thought  of  him  as  a  chival 
rous  and  resplendent  soldier  of  God.  He  came  to  the  diocese 
nine  years  ago  in  the  glory  of  a  splendid  manhood,  with  seemingly 
unbounded  health  and  strength;  and  he  has  died  of  the  mighty 
work  he  has  done.  How  tired  he  was  when  I  last  saw  him! 
I  think  of  him  now  as  so  happy  in  the  perfect  rest  of  Paradise. 
But  what  a  loss!  what  a  sorrow  for  us  who  are  left!  God  help 
me  to  do  the  work  that  He  appoints,  and  to  remember  that  the 
time  for  work  here  may  not  be  long.  How  very  near  to  me  comes 
this  death!  I  loved  that  man;  he  was  younger  and  far  stronger 
than  I,  and  I  expected  him  to  outlive  me. 

I  do  feel  a  trifle  lonely  and  forlorn.  I  see  but  little  light  before 
me  in  this  tough  study  of  German.  Shall  I  ever  be  able  to  under 
stand  these  sounds  that  I  hear  all  about  me,  and  to  repeat  them 
to  myself?  If  I  live,  I  shall.  That  is,  I  shall  keep  hammering 
away;  but  it  is  so  schwer. 

Wernigerode,  29  August.  It  is  about  half-past  five  in  the 
afternoon.  I  am  seated  on  a  bench  far  up  on  one  of  the  wooded 
streets  back  of  the  town.  Sunshine,  long  shadows,  deMcious 
cool  air,  the  odor  of  pines,  a  world  of  trees  and  rich  green  foliage, 
restful  silence  qualified  by  the  tinkling  of  the  bells  on  the  home 
coming  herds,  and  now  and  then  the  voice  of  a  rambler.  For 
the  first  time  at  Wernigerode  I  walked  out  alone  to-day.  It 
seems  a  relief  from  the  mental  strain  of  conversation  in  German. 
I  take  in  the  calmness  and  repose  of  nature.  Long,  long  shall 
I  remember  this  delicious  spot  —  this  ramble  alone  with  God 
and  the  angels,  and  thoughts  of  my  dearly  beloved  Bishop 
Harris. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  221 

I  have  studied  to-day  since  eight  o'clock,  with  two  hours 
for  dinner  and  rest  —  seven  hours. 


Blankenburg,  5  September.  Have  had  a  wonderful  excursion 
to-day.  Started  for  Thale  about  nine.  Had  the  luck  to  get 
a  droschke  from  Thale  returning  empty.  At  Bahnhof  took 
nourishment.  Then  walked  to  Hexentansplatz  —  the  point 
from  which  the  princess  leaped;  took  more  nourishment;  next 
through  a  wald,  escorted  by  a  brief  trager;  reached  the  path  of 
descent  into  the  deep  abyss;  at  Konigsruhe,  Bode  thai,  where 
I  again  took  nourishment;  then  slowly  ascended  to  Rosstrappe, 
saw  the  imperishable  hoof-print  in  the  rock,  listened  to  the  re 
verberations  of  the  pistol  shot,  looked  down  upon  the  enormous 
and  magnificent  gorge,  and  the  vast  glory  of  all  this  rock 
scenery;  then  at  the  hotel  reposed  for  an  hour,  enjoyed  the  wide 
outlook  over  the  earth,  and  likewise  took  nourishment  once  more, 
and  at  half-past  four  started  for  Blankenburg.  Missing  the 
way,  lost  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  Came  home  through  a 
most  beautiful  forest.  The  most  impressive  scenery  I  have 
beheld  since  I  was  at  Rigi  and  Chamonix. 

Blankenburgj  6  September.  My  experience  in  mountain  climb 
ing  is  that  I  do  not  feel  the  fatigue  till  the  following  day.  So 
to-day  I  am  conscious  of  yesterday.  Have  spent  the  time 
socially  and  idly,  taking  mine  ease  in  mine  own  inn. 


Wolfenbiittel,  17  September.  Am  in  glorious  trim  for  work. 
A  good  day  I  have  had  of  it.  From  eight  till  nearly  one,  steady 
push,  then  from  half-past  two  to  five.  The  last  hour  and  a 
half  were  a  Stunde  with  Frau  B .  But  I  am  in  a  deep  pit  of  in 
credulity  as  to  my  power  to  learn  or  master  the  German  language; 


222  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

yet  if  I  can  keep  this  thing  going  for  another  twelvemonth  or 
so,  some  sort  of  good  result  must  come. 

Wolfenbuttel,  20  September.  I  had  coffee  at  half-past  six  and 
worked  steadily  till  about  half -past  twelve;  then  from  three  till 
four,  when  my  eyes  began  to  notify  me  that  I  had  done  enough. 
So  I  pushed  out  into  the  country  alone,  going  due  eastward, 
across  fields  toward  the  Brocken,  whose  noble  peak  I  saw  before 
me.  I  write  this  sitting  on  the  leafy  cushion  of  the  earth,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  in  the  deep  centre  of  a  huge  forest  which  I  have 
been  exploring.  The  scene  is  full  of  loveliness  and  repose,  se 
clusion,  spiritual  joy,  and  a  silence  that  speaks  tenderly  to  my 
very  heart.  Sitting  here  in  this  beautiful  solitude,  I  cannot  think 
this  a  very  bad  world,  nor  can  I  easily  realize  that  some  millions 
of  my  fellow  countrymen  four  thousand  miles  to  the  west  are 
getting  very  much  excited  over  a  presidential  election,  which, 
I  believe,  is  to  come  off  some  time  this  fall.  Later:  I  walked 
farther  and  farther  into  that  beautiful  forest,  tempted  by  its 
enticing  loveliness;  and  at  last,  when  the  sun  was  nearly  down  at 
the  horizon,  I  discovered  that  I  had  lost  my  reckoning.  I 
walked  on  and  on.  It  began  to  get  dark.  I  could  find  no  end 
or  limit  to  the  forest.  I  began  to  think  I  might  have  to  spend  the 
night  there.  Finally  I  came  to  a  wagon  road.  I  determined 
to  follow  it  till  I  should  come  out  of  the  forest.  I  did  so.  At 
last,  after  perhaps  three-quarters  of  an  hour  of  rapid  walking  I 
emerged.  All  was  strange  to  me.  I  could  see  a  Dorf  about  a 
mile  off.  No  house  nearer.  Toward  the  Dorf  I  walked.  At 
last,  not  far  from  it,  I  saw  a  man  walking  in  a  field,  though  it 
was  quite  dark.  The  result  of  our  conversation  was  that  I 
had  come  to  this  Dorf  which  was  fully  two  Stunden  from 
Wolfenbuttel.  I  asked  him  to  guide  me  back  through  the 
forest,  for  which  I  paid  one  mark.  I  reached  home  at  about 
nine. 


MOSES  corr  TYLER  2*3 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  MOTHER 

Wolfenbuttel,  Germany,  September  23,  1888 
MY  DEAR  MOTHER: 

I  was  very  happy  to  get,  some  time  ago,  your  nice  letter  of 
July  19,  and  I  took  some  pride  in  showing  your  clear,  neat  hand 
writing  to  several  German  friends  here  as  a  specimen  of 
the  workmanship  of  an  American  lady  of  eighty-one  summers. 
I  am  in  magnificent  health.  Indeed,  there  is  something  won 
derful  about  the  German  climate.  Never  before  have  I  been 
able  to  work  for  so  many  hours  a  day,  with  brain  and  body, 
and  feel  so  little  fatigue.  I  find  the  people  universally  kind 
and  courteous,  many  of  them  of  most  charming  manners,  happy, 
and  making  one  another  happy. 

I  greatly  enjoy  going  to  church.  At  first  the  service  seemed 
very  strange  and  not  impressive;  but  I  am  coming  to  feel  that 
it  has  much  beauty  and  power.  Luther  perhaps  retained  some 
what  more  of  the  method  of  the  Roman  worship  than  did  the 
later  English  reformers.  The  service  is  nearly  always  chanted 
by  the  priest  and  the  choir;  there  are  no  responses  from  the 
congregation,  and  it  is  only  in  the  long  old  hymns  that  are  sung, 
and  that  form  an  important  part  of  the  service,  that  the  con 
gregation  have  any  direct  part  in  the  service. 

I  am  greatly  impressed  by  the  efficiency  of  the  women  in 
Germany,  and  by  their  wonderful  health  and  strength.  In  the 
country,  where  I  walk  every  day,  I  see  on  many  a  farm  the  entire 
family  in  the  field  —  father,  mother,  boys,  and  girls  —  all  work 
ing  together  from  dawn  to  dark.  Every  member  of  the  family 
begins  to  work  as  soon  as  he  or  she  can  toddle.  Even  the  babies 
(of  which  the  multitude  passes  all  human  computation)  have  to 
go  out  into  the  fields  too,  and  amuse  themselves  as  best  they 
can  —  with  an  occasional  interview,  by  way  of  needed  nourish 
ment,  with  the  maternal  bounty.  Yesterday  as  we  walked  in 
the  country  we  saw  such  a  sight;  only  in  this  case  the  two 
babies  were  lying  in  a  little  wagon,  and  were  yelling  furiously. 
The  family  were  picking  up  potatoes  in  a  field  too  far  off  to  hear 
the  infantile  music.  When  we  got  along  to  where  the  mother 


224  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

was  we  told  her  that  the  children  were  crying.  "Ach  Gott!" 
said  she,  "it  will  do  them  good.  They've  been  fed  and  will  be 
fed  again.  Now  I  am  busy.  The  babies  are  in  the  care  of 
God.  Let  them  cry;  their  lungs  will  be  the  stronger  for  it."  So 
Deutschland  has  become  mighty,  and  has  conquered  France,  and 
can  do  it  again.  .  .  .  Your  affectionate  son, 

MOSES. 

Wolfenbiittelj  24  September.  Eight  to  one  with  dear  old  Otto 
—  in  fact,  began  a  new  attack  on  those  infernal  irregular  verbs. 
Was  not  quite  so  fresh  and  vigorous  as  usual.  Newspapers 
from  America  containing  many  things  about  the  life,  death,  and 
funeral  of  Bishop  Harris.  My  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears,  and 
my  mind  too  full  of  the  thought  of  that  splendid  Christian  leader 
to  be  able  longer  to  work  well  over  Otto. 

Berlin,  10  October.  After  a  wash  and  a  bite  I  walked  to 
Unter  den  Linden  and  through  it.  I  saw  the  famous  street  first 
under  electric  light  —  broad,  stately,  imperial,  beautiful,  but 
not  equal  in  its  impressiveness  to  Paris.  Was  conscious  of  the 
roar  of  travel  all  night  —  a  contrast  to  the  utter  peace  and 
silence  of  dear  little  Wolfenbiittel.  I  have  been  here  long  enough 
to  make  up  my  mind  not  to  stay  here  very  long.  Shall  settle 
down  in  Leipzig  for  my  steady  and  heavy  work  in  Deutschland. 

Berlin,  16  October.  Here  I  am  in  the  lecture  room  in  which 
Doctor  Seler  is  to  lecture  on  Die  alien  Kulturvdlker  Amerikas. 
The  diabolical  janitor  came  in  just  before  the  lecture  began  and 
corked  the  room  up  tight;  we  sweltered  and  gasped  and  grew 
stupid  in  the  foul  air,  while  the  lecturer  himself,  a  somewhat 
fidgety,  youngish  man,  spoke  so  fast  and  so  indistinctly  that  I 
could  not  follow  him  well.  Another  fiasco! 

Berlin,  18  October.  We  all  went  this  morning  to  the  Zoological 
Garden  and  spent  several  happy  hours  with  the  crocodiles,  mon 
keys,  elephants,  camels,  chimpanzees,  and  other  brethren  and 
sisters. 


IT 
II 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  225 

22  October.  Left  Berlin  and  reached  Wittenberg  at  ten,  where 
I  spent  most  of  the  day.  Deeply  interested.  It  was  good  to 
see  memorials  of  great  men  that  did  not  belong  to  the  Hohen- 
zollern  family.  I  saw  everything  that  is  celebrated  in  the  chroni 
cles  of  St.  Baedeker.  Was  most  affected  by  the  sight  of  Luther's 
house,  the  court  of  the  old  monastery,  the  double  chair  of  plain 
wood  in  which  he  and  his  wife  sat  by  the  window,  and,  further, 
by  what  I  saw  in  the  Stadtkirche,  where  Luther  preached,  and 
where  the  communion  was  first  administered  in  both  kinds. 
I  wandered  about  the  place  at  my  leisure,  breathed  in  the  very 
air  which  Luther  breathed,  looked  up  to  the  same  sky  which  for 
so  many  years  hung  over  his  head,  and  mused  on  the  simple 
greatness  of  the  genius,  the  courage,  the  wonderful  work  of  that 
peasant's  son  —  a  much  greater  than  Bismarck  or  Frederick 
the  Great  —  the  mightiest  and  most  benignant  personality  in 
two  thousand  years  of  German  history. 

At   about   half-past    three    started    for   Leipzig,    which    I 
approached  with  a  feeling  of  loneliness. 

Leipzig,  24  October.  Heard  my  first  German  lecture.  It  was 
from  Friedberg,  jurist,  on  Deutsche  Rechtsgeschichte,  strong, 
lucid,  well  delivered;  and  to  my  great  comfort  found  myself 
able  to  follow  it  in  substance. 

As  I  came  out  at  ten,  saw  great  throngs  of  students  in  the 
court  or  central  plaza;  buzzing  —  a  scene  wondrously  familiar; 
and  these  boys  look  and  act  and  talk  very  much  like  the  young 
sters  whom  I  have  been  encountering  every  year  since  before 
the  time  that  these  particular  students  were  born. 

Leipzig,  25  October.  Nine  to  ten.  I  am  now  in  the  lecture 
room,  trying  to  hear  Wuchsmuth.  He  stands  in  a  lazy  way, 
leaning  back  against  the  blackboard,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
or  one  of  them  rubbing  his  face;  his  utterance  hesitating  and 
then  abrupt,  now  clear  and  now  inaudible,  his  voice  dying  away 


226  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

into  a  whispered  cadence.  I  can't  catch  much,  scarcely  the  drift; 
far  less  than  Friedberg  yesterday.  He  seems  to  meditate  as 
he  goes  on;  to  be  hardly  conscious  of  his  audience  and  to  dis 
course  in  a  sort  of  monologue  —  thinking  aloud  to  himself  — 
certainly  not  to  me.  Now  his  hands  are  behind  his  coat  tails. 
Now  the  clock  strikes. 

Ten  to  eleven.  Heard  Luthard  on  The  Gospel  according  to  St. 
Jo  Jin.  Large  room;  crowded  full;  several  standing;  some  students 
with  cigars  in  mouths  and  smoke  coming  out.  Doctor  Luthard, 
a  man  of  perhaps  sixty,  smooth  face,  white  hair,  bright  eyes, 
large,  firm  mouth,  rich,  deep  voice,  and  eloquent  temperament, 
a  noble,  venerable  person;  evidently  greatly  loved  and  admired. 
He  began  as  if  in  prayer;  standing,  leaning  forward  over 
his  crossed  arms.  After  some  introductory  words,  in  gentle, 
deep  tones,  he  straightened  up  and  looked  the  orator  and  preacher 
and  apostle;  presently  he  sat  down  and  so  proceeded.  I  was 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  but  heard  him  and  under 
stood  him  well.  From  eleven  to  twelve,  hearing  Winterschied, 
a  jurist;  great  room,  crowded  full.  The  lecturer,  an  old  man, 
with  the  look  and  manner  of  a  shrewd  and  rather  foxy  old  ad 
vocate.  He  speaks  in  a  conversational  tone,  rapidly  and  not 
audibly  so  far  as  this  farther  end  of  the  room  is  concerned. 
Being  unable  to  hear  him,  I  wait  patiently  for  the  end  of  the 
hour  by  writing  these  lines.  I  note  that  here  the  departments 
of  law,  theology,  and  philosophy  seem  locally  blended  and  not 
separated,  as  is  the  case  with  us.  Thus  here  are  three  or  four 
hundred  law  students;  in  the  next  room  are  as  many  theo 
logians. 

When  Winterschied  came  in  some  began  to  applaud;  but  this 
was  suppressed  by  a  sudden  imperative  hiss. 

From  four  to  five,  lecture,  by  Doctor  Lindner,  on  Religious 
Geschichte.  Only  four  students  in  the  room.  The  lecture,  a 
good  beginning,  scientific  of  course,  learned,  no  fire;  a  little 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  227 

too  fast  in  delivery  for  me;  the  room  almost  dark  before  he 
got  through. 

Then  from  six  to  seven  heard  Maurenbrecher's  first  lecture 
on  German  history,  1840-80.  Room  crowded  full;  eager  stu 
dents;  when  Maurenbrecher  came  in,  warmly  applauded.  A  big, 
burly  fellow  with  a  slouch  hat,  which  he  slung  on  the  corner  of 
his  desk.  He  took  his  chair;  in  a  quiet,  friendly  tone,  with  a  rich 
and  well  modulated  voice,  began  to  read  his  lecture,  with  which 
he  was  so  familiar  that  he  scarcely  seemed  to  read.  Almost 
at  once  he  began  to  warm  up;  grew  emphatic,  now  and  then 
almost  impassioned;  brought  his  big  hand  down  on  the  desk 
so  that  it  trembled,  and  his  stamp  on  the  platform  made  a  little 
earthquake.  It  was  a  preliminary  view  of  European  history 
from  the  French  revolution.  Evidently  to  go  into  a  book. 
Attention  eager  to  the  end.  A  real  success,  a  brilliant  lecture; 
and  as  he  went  out,  they  again  cheered  him  lustily.  As  we  came 
out  at  seven,  it  was  fine  to  see  the  huge  throng  of  students  from 
other  rooms  as  well  pouring  along. 

At  six  went  to  Maurenbrecher's  room;  crowded;  had  to 
stand  throughout;  room  hot,  audience  not  perfectly  absorbed. 
He  described  the  Monroe  doctrine  as  if  it  were  Canning's  product 
and  communicated  by  him  to  America. 

Leipzig,  27  October.  Worked  at  Grimm's  Mdrchen  from  eight 
to  twelve.  Found  a  tough  place  and  made  only  ten  pages. 
Then  went  to  hear  Professor  Biedermann  on  History  of  German 
literature  of  the  nineteenth  century.  I  am  now  writing  in 
his  room,  where  I  wait  for  his  entrance.  There  he  comes! 
a  gray-haired,  gray-whiskered  man  of  about  sixty-five,  with  a 
sensitive  face  and  temperament;  sad-looking,  rather;  he  goes 
toward  the  desk  with  a  sort  of  nervous,  almost  timid,  movement; 
looks  as  if  the  world  and  especially  Bismarck  were  not  on  his 
side. 


228  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Alas!  his  voice  is  weak,  feminine  in  quality;  the  street  cars 
rattle  in  the  street  close  by  and  often  kill  out  entirely  these 
feebly  uttered,  yet  refined  and  interesting,  sentences.  I  listen 
hard.  I  sit  about  fifteen  feet  in  front  of  the  desk,  but  I  can  only 
catch  a  word  here  and  there.  But  I  like  him;  he  is  a  refined 
gentleman,  a  sensitive  scholar.  He  has  some  written  notes  on 
the  desk, which  he  occasionally  glances  at;  but  his  lecture  is  a  real, 
conversational  discourse  —  the  flower  of  critical  and  discriminate 
thought  from  a  cultivated  mind.  Each  professor  has  a  special 
student  —  a  famulus  —  who  writes  and  posts  notices,  is  present 
at  each  lecture  and  looks  after  the  conveniences.  At  three  in 
the  afternoon  heard  first  lecture  of  a  privat-docent,  Dr.  Gess, 
on  Recent  German  history.  Admirable  in  all  respects.  A  fine 
speaker;  a  clear,  orderly  thinker.  Full  of  promise  this  young 
fellow.  Then  called  on  Dr.  Gregory,  the  American  member  of 
the  Leipzig  faculty.  Our  talk  was  largely  practical.  He  has 
been  here  since  1873.  Too  late  for  a  lecture  at  five  which  I 
wanted  to  go  to;  besides,  was  tired,  and  walked  about  the  city, 
enjoying  my  solitude  and  the  sights  of  the  streets. 

Leipzig,  jo  October.  Heard  lecture  on  political  economy  by 
Warschaur,  a  privat-docent;  very  able,  but  too  rapid  in  speech 
forme.  His  nose  proclaims  from  afar  his  Abrahamic  ancestry; 
while  his  neck  scarf,  watch  chain,  and  general  appearance  give 
intimation  that  he  is  a  veritable  dealer  in  ready-made  clothes 
for  men.  His  voice  was  pleasant,  and  his  manner,  though 
touched  by  Judaic  self-assertion,  was  not  disagreeable;  more 
over,  he  seemed  to  be  the  undoubted  possessor  and  distributor 
of  wit,  though  I  did  not  understand  the  point. 

'  Five  to  six,  came  to  the  Probe- vorlesung  of  young  Dr.  Fltigel, 
who  thus  enters  on  his  career  as  a  privat-docent.  He  was  in 
full  evening  dress,  white  kid  gloves.  The  professors  came  in 
with  him  and  took  a  front  seat,  and  were  rather  uneasy  listeners. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  229 

He  read  too  fast,  and  was  told  it  by  one  of  them.  It  was  on 
Shelley.  He  has  a  delicate,  refined  look  —  as  of  a  poet  and 
artist. 

Leipzig,  31  October.  No  wonder  the  Germans  have  an  awe  of 
their  Kaiser.  It  rained  hard  yesterday  and  in  the  night;  but 
as  the  Kaiser  comes  to-day,  the  heavens  forbear  to  send  down 
their  flood.  It  is  true  Kaiser  weather,  they  say.  Read  in 
Bible  till  eleven;  then  Jeanne tte  and  I  sauntered  forth  to  see 
the  demonstration;  it  is  Reformation's  feast  day,  the  dedication 
of  a  war  monument,  and  the  first  visit  of  the  young  Kaiser. 
The  city  has  been  long  preparing  for  the  great  day  and  has  spent 
money  lavishly  on  decorations,  which  are  really  splendid.  We 
wandered  about  among  the  throngs  and  finally  took  our  stand 
opposite  the  Dresdener  Bahnhof ,  where  the  Kaiser  was  to  arrive. 
When  he  came  out  from  the  station  I  climbed  up  a  gas-post  in 
order  to  see  him  and  the  King  of  Saxony. 

Leipzig,  5  November.  Four  to  five  went  to  hear  Overbeck^'s 
lecture  on  Greek  mythology;  a  genial,  elderly  gentleman;  speaks 
deliberately  and  composedly,  clearly,  with  frequent  bubbles 
of  mirth.  Decided  to  take  his  lectures.  He  is  a  great  authority. 
The  next  hour,  five  to  six,  at  Maurenbrecher's  lecture  on  the 
Sources  for  recent  German  history,  and  from  six  to  seven  heard 
his  lecture  on  Frederick  William  IV.  Decided  to  take  him  too. 
Find  four  hours  together  rather  a  trial  for  the  head,  and  shall 
be  content  with  three  a  day  hereafter. 

Leipzig,  6  November.  Presidential  election  at  home  to-day. 
Profoundly  ignored  in  this  country.  Made  a  call  on  Professor 
Overbeck  and  asked  permission  to  attend  his  course.  He  was 
very  affable  and  easy,  with  his  characteristic  touch  of  playfulness. 
After  two  made  a  similar  call  on  Maurenbrecher,  a  big-bellied, 
big-hearted,  strong-winded  German,  with  a  very  cordial  manner. 


23o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Said  he  once  had  the  good  luck  to  meet  Bancroft,  and  was  much 
impressed  by  his  talk.  Spoke  of  Von  Hoist,  but  added,  as  an 
historical  writer,  "  we  cannot  control  him."  I  wondered  if  the 
German  government  had  gone  so  far  as  that.  Presently  he  added 
that  Von  Hoist's  materials,  his  Quellen,  were  not  accessible 
in  Germany;  and  so  I  understood  that  he  meant  "verify."  He 
spoke  of  calling  upon  me,  and  when  I  mentioned  that  my  wife 
and  daughter  were  with  me,  he  took  up  a  circular  of  his  course 
of  public  lectures  on  Literature  (10  m.  for  two  persons)  and  asked 
if  their  attention  had  been  called  to  this  —  a  bit  of  naivete 
which  I  could  not  have  been  capable  of.  His  wife  is  a  German, 
but  born  and  educated  in  England,  and  speaking  English. 
Maurenbrecher  spoke  English,  but  with  much  hesitation. 

Leipzig,  7  November.  Three  to  four,  heard  young  Doctor  Gess. 
His  room  cold  and  we  were  directed  to  another  one.  A  visitor 
and  myself  were  his  only  Zuhorer;  and  his  lecture  was  directed 
at  me.  He  looked  me  squarely  in  the  eyes  all  the  time. 

Leipzig,  9  November.  We  have-  decisive  news  at  last  of  the 
result  of  the  Presidential  election.  Cleveland  is  severely  de 
feated.  Nearly  every  Northern  state  has  gone  against  him. 
Alas!  Hill  is  elected  Governor  of  New  York;  likewise  the  Tam 
many  candidate  for  Mayor  of  New  York.  This  means  that 
Cleveland  has  been  slaughtered  in  New  York  by  his  own  party. 
It  was  greatly  to  Hill's  interest  to  be  elected  Governor  himself 
and  to  have  Cleveland  defeated  for  the  presidency. 

Before  Doctor  Overbeck's  lecture  this  afternoon  his  famulus 
brought  me  a  message  from  Overbeck  requesting  me  to  apply  to 
the  University  authorities  for  permission  to  hear  lectures.  As 
Dr.  Gregory  had  told  me  that  no  such  application  was  necessary, 
and  as  Dr.  Overbeck  had  cordially  responded  to  my  request  to 
be  allowed  to  attend  his  lectures,  this  message  brought  me  some 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  231 

surprise  and  annoyance.  Resumed  Otto,  which  I  had  laid  aside 
since  my  last  week  in  Wolfenbiittel.  Began  a  review  from  be 
ginning.  Shall  continue  daily  readings  in  Muller's  Geschichte. 
This  afternoon  went  for  counsel  and  help  to  Gregory  about  the 
muddle  into  which  his  previous  direction  has  got  me.  He  flatted 
out  completely.  I  find,  amid  some  humiliation,  that  I  ought  to 
have  gone  to  the  rector,  and  have  got  a  Zuhorer  Schein  and 
to  pay  for  my  lectures.  This  is  what  I  shall  now  do. 

Leipzig,  12  November.  Called  on  Rector  Hofmann  and  was 
most  courteously  received  and  my  arrangement  to  hear  lec 
tures  without  matriculation  was  satisfactorily  made.  Dr. 
Overbeck  did  not  read  this  afternoon.  Perhaps  the  avaricious 
old  cuss  is  sick.  Should  think  he  would  suffer  from  gripes  in 
his  trousers  pocket.  From  three  to  four,  Dr.  Gess.  I  was  his 
only  auditor.  He  began  smilingly,  as  if  it  were  comical.  I  looked 
grave  and  serious.  At  the  end  he  spoke  to  his  audience  from 
his  chair  and  said  that  he  would  be  unable  to  lecture  next  Satur 
day.  We  had  some  talk  further  and  he  accompanied  me  to 
the  Lese  Halle. 

Leipzig,  23  November.  Completes  my  first  month  in  Leipzig. 
On  the  whole  I  have  less  confidence  in  my  ability  to  acquire 
German  than  when  I  landed  in  June. 

Leipzig,  5  December.  Eight  to  one  Otto,  and  began  to  read 
Geschichte  der  Schlacht  bei  Leipzig.  Have  taken  too  many 
lectures,  and  feel  the  effects  of  overwork  —  insomnia,  etc.  I 
take  the  afternoon  for  a  visit  to  some  of  the  battlefields.  I  have 
passed  through  Thonberg,  and  am  now  standing  at  the  Denk- 
mal  to  S.  E.  "Hier  weilte  Napoleon  am  18  Oktober,  1813, 
die  Kampfe  der  Volkersschlacht  beobachtend."  ...  I  am 
now  on  the  Hugel  der  Monarchen,  sitting  in  front  of  the  Denk- 
mal.  On  a  tablet  is  this:  "  Gott  war  mit  uns.  Hier  verweilten 
in  der  Schlacht  bei  Leipzig  am  18  Oktober,  1813,  die  3  ver- 


232  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

bundeten  Monarchen,  Kaiser  Franz  I  von  Ostreich,  Kaiser 
Alex.  I  von  Russland,  Konig  Friedrich  Wilhelm  III  von  Preus- 
sen,  und  waren  Zeugen  der  ausserordentlichen  Tapferkeit  ihrer 
Truppen." 

I  walked  back  to  Probsthayda,  and  thence  to  Gonnerwitz 
and  home  by  Pferdebahn.  Could  see  between  Probsthayda  and 
Gonnerwitz  the  two  stations  of  the  enemy,  that  of  Napoleon  and 
that  of  the  three  monarchs,  and  could  realize  partly  the  scene. 

Three  to  four,  with  Gess.  His  only  auditor.  He  spoke  to  me 
informally  at  the  opening  and  suggested  that  he  should  shorten 
his  lecture  that  we  might  walk  in  the  fine  weather.  In  our 
walk  he  gave  me  a  good  account  of  the  first  King  of  Saxony, 
Napoleon's  ally,  a  man  without  military  capacity  or  courage; 
after  battle  of  Jena  made  his  own  terms  with  Napoleon,  by 
whom  he  was  advanced  from  Kurfiirst  to  King.  In  the  battle 
of  Leipzig  the  King  stayed  within  the  city  in  a  house  (which  Gess 
showed  me)  and  even  concealed  himself  in  the  cellar.  When  the 
true  monarchs,  victorious,  came  into  the  Markt  Platz  with  their 
troops,  the  King  of  Saxony,  with  only  an  adjutant,  went  out  to 
them  and  stood  before  them  cap  in  hand,  supplicating  mercy; 
but  they  would  not  speak  to  him.  He  was  sent  as  prisoner  to 
Berlin. 

Leipzig,  1 6  December.  With  Consul  Millar  visited  Halle. 
I  was  captivated.  In  the  chief  university  building  is  a  large 
clock  audible  in  all  the  lecture  rooms  and  striking  every  quarter- 
hour  so  that  the  lecturer  can  tell  just  how  fast  the  time  is  slip 
ping  through  his  fingers.  The  benches  and  desks  in  the  room 
were  as  plain  as  usual,  but  under  each  long  table  ran  a  shelf  — 
so  that  each  student  had  a  place  for  his  Collegienmappe,  Brod- 
chen,  u.  s.  w.  Consul  Millar  told  me  that  the  Saxons  are  hated 
and  even  laughed  at  all  over  Germany  for  their  amiability  — 
not  always  connected  with  high  intelligence. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  233 

Leipzig,  20  December.  I  heard  to-day  Wundt,  said  to  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  physiological  psychologists  of  Germany. 
Room  large  and  full;  applauded  cordially  as  he  came  in  and  went 
out.  A  very  plain,  even  homely  and  rather  insignificant  look 
ing  man  of  perhaps  fifty;  apparently  not  robust;  with  the  air, 
say,  of  a  journeyman  tailor  afflicted  with  dyspepsia  and  dis 
couraged  on  account  of  lack  of  work.  He  began  in  a  very  quiet 
but  earnest  voice;  he  was  grave  throughout;  often  wrote  on  the 
blackboard,  and  often  turned  quite  around  and  talked  to  the 
blackboard  instead  of  the  audience;  something  in  his  tones 
sounded  to  me  pathetic,  as  if  the  gloom  of  his  doctrine  had  cast 
its  shadows  upon  his  soul.  His  manner  continued  quiet,  but 
earnest  and  winning;  his  words  were  spoken  deliberately,  but  with 
a  sort  of  tender  and  genuine  cadence;  and  without  any  apparent 
effort  to  hold  his  audience  he  held  them.  Often  he  leaned  for 
ward  upon  his  desk,  where  he  stood,  his  hands  extended  in  front, 
and  both  moving  in  nervous  sympathy  with  his  thought.  By 
appointment  with  Dr.  Ewald  Fliigel  went  to  Gohlis,  where  we 
saw  the  house  in  which  poor  Schiller  wrote  his  Hymn  to  joy  — 
a  very  humble  mansion  indeed. 

Leipzig,  31  December.  The  consul  invited  us  to  drink  punch 
at  his  house  to-night. 

So  ends  this  good  year  1888. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

1889 

Leipzig,  i  January.  Feel  unaccountably  depressed;  the  mis 
takes  of  my  life,  the  defects  of  my  character,  oppressed  me;  the 
littleness  of  what  I  have  done  in  any  direction  compared  with 
my  real  opportunities  of  doing  much  gave  me  a  sense  of  failure, 
and  the  fear  that  every  opportunity  was  slipping  away  beyond 
my  reach;  along  with  this  came  the  self-reproach  that  in  the 
precious  and  few  autumn  hours  of  life  I  had  needlessly  come  away 
from  my  unfinished  work,  and  was  spending  on  mere  by-play 
and  pleasant  loitering  the  time  and  the  vitality  which  are  needed 
for  steady,  persistent  work  at  home. 

Self-abnegation  vs.  selfishness.  Sympathy  and  help  vs.  self- 
absorption.  Deliberation  vs.  impulsiveness.  Self-control  vs. 
self-indulgence.  Perseverance  vs.  project-shiftliness.  Every  one 
thinks  he  could  do  better  if  he  might  live  his  life  over  again. 
The  new  year  gives  every  man  that  opportunity.  Let  him  for 
the  future  rectify  the  blunders  of  the  past.  Every  new  day 
is  a  new  career. 

Leipzig,  2  January.  By  appointment  called  on  Professor 
Workman  from  Victoria  University,  Canada.  Workman  ex 
plained  to  me  his  theory  of  inspiration,  which  he  calls  the  Com 
munion  theory;  also  the  point  of  his  forthcoming  book  on  Jere 
miah.  The  latter  seems  like  an  epoch-making  work.  He  took 
the  Septuagint  of  Jeremiah,  collated  it  with  the  Masordic  He 
brew  text;  found  enormous  discrepancies,  and  that  the  Sep 
tuagint  must  have  been  made  from  an  older  and  purer  text  than 
is  the  Masordic;  and  then  translated  the  Septuagint  back  into 

234 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  235 

Hebrew  to  find  what  it  was.  This  reconstructed  text  he  printed 
in  a  column  parallel  with  the  Masordic,  and  thus  shows  the 
discrepancies. 

Leipzig,  3  January.  All  the  morning  read  on  Gellert's  Neue 
Brief e,  pp.  16-32  —  twice  over;  the  first  time,  without  dictionary, 
to  get  the  general  sense;  then  more  carefully  looking  out  such 
words  as  were  not  familiar.  I  am  charmed  by  Gellert  —  his 
delicate  Attic  style,  his  humor,  his  sympathy,  his  loving  benevo 
lent  helpfulness,  his  beautiful  devoutness.  Bought  a  complete 
edition  of  Gellert,  1784,  ten  volumes,  with  good  paper  and  type, 
steel  engravings,  for  fifty  pfennig  per  volume!  After  that 
visited  Das  rote  Collegium,  where  Gellert  lived.  Saw  also  the 
room  where  the  philosophical  faculty  hold  examinations  for  de 
grees;  with  old  portraits  on  the  walls  —  originals  of  Luther, 
Melancthon. 

In  London  daily  news  read  an  editorial  article  on  Charles 
F.  Richardson's  second  volume  of  American  literature.  The 
article  ended  with  the  sentence  that  as  our  literature  is  still 
so  young  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  add  to  it  than  to  be  writing 
histories  of  it.  This  set  me  re- thinking  on  the  use  to  which  I 
ought  to  put  the  next  few  years  of  my  life.  Shall  I  go  on  with 
my  History  of  American  literature,  or  write  a  history  of  The 
birth  of  the  revolution,  or  write  a  series  of  historical  novels,  be 
ginning  with  one  in  Governor  Berkeley's  time;  and  perhaps 
also  take  time  for  more  miscellaneous  literary  work  —  essays, 
American  ballads,  dialogues  a  la  Imaginary  conversations,  and 
other  projects  more  purely  literary. 

Leipzig,  9  January.  All  the  morning  on  Gellert.  Ran 
through  more  of  his  letters;  then  began  on  Volume  I,  to  read 
his  Fabeln.  Read  about  twenty  pages  and  found  them  very 
good,  each  one  having  a  real  idea,  neatly  expressed,  with  a 
charming  flavor  of  humor  and  a  dainty  poetical  touch. 


236  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

After  dinner  read  in  Hauff's  Tales;  from  half-past  three 
to  five  walked  with  Flugel.  He  showed  me  the  Napoleon  house 
in  Reudnitz.  At  his  own  house  he  also  showed  me  original 
letters  of  Washington  and  the  other  early  Presidents.  He  told 
me  of  the  rich  Leipzig  banker,  Frege,  who  is  very  devout.  Frege 
has  a  country  house.  One  day,  walking  out  in  the  fields,  he 
heard  a  workman  swear.  Going  up  to  him  and  giving  him  a 
mark,  he  said,  "Please  don't  swear  any  more."  The  next  day 
on  his  walk,  whenever  he  passed  workmen,  they  broke  out  into 
loud  swearing.  They  also  wished  to  be  reformed  by  the  same 
appeal. 

Leipzig,  1 6  January.  Dense  fog;  light  too  dim  to  use  my 
eyes;  and  my  head  somewhat  rebellious,  So  at  ten  went  forth. 
At  eleven  heard  Springer  on  Geschichte  der  altchristlichen  Kunst. 
His  famulus  brought  in  and  arranged  photographs  for  illustra 
tion,  and  Springer  entered  from  his  apparatus  room,  and  sat 
in  his  chair,  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  a  picturesque  old  man, 
white  hair,  white  beard,  bright  eyes,  his  face  bearing  traces 
of  illness;  his  front  teeth  partly  gone  and  his  articulation  de 
fective  therefrom  and  his  voice  rather  heavy.  At  first  he  spoke 
with  his  eyes  directed  to  the  ceiling,  having  a  wrapt  look;  some 
times  with  his  eyes  closed,  as  if  dreaming  aloud;  sometimes  he 
looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  his  hearers.  His  gestures  were 
animated  and  unconscious;  he  would  leave  the  platform  and 
show  the  pictures,  walk  up  and  down  the  space  in  front;  or  lean 
unconsciously  against  the  desk.  A  real  orator  by  nature,  and 
the  most  impressive  sage  I  have  seen  here,  next  to  Luthard. 

At  twelve,  heard  Hasse  on  Deutsche  Colonial-politik.  He 
came  in  with  his  hat  in  hand,  and  fur-lined  overcoat  on,  and 
hung  both  on  pegs  near  the  stand.  A  square,  broad-faced  Saxon, 
with  blue  eyes,  blond  face,  and  yellow  hair  and  beard;  a  head 
of  the  Garfield  shape;  a  handsome  man;  quiet,  business-like 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  237 

ways,  with  a  masterful  air  about  him,  and  with  a  something  in  his 
manner  that  gave  weight  to  what  he  said.  After  the  lecture, 
instead  of  going  at  once  from  the  room,  he  stopped  to  put  on  his 
coat,  and  his  hearers  left  first.  First  instance  of  this  I  have  seen. 
In  evening  looked  over  some  histories  of  German  literature, 
particularly  Hettner. 

Leipzig,  21  January.  Gellert's  Fabeln,  139-162.  Also  a 
good  many  pages  in  Hauff.  Three  to  four,  Gess's  lecture. 
Walked  with  him  for  a  short  time.  Later  read  in  Klopstock's 
Leben  and  in  the  evening  aloud  Longfellow's  Nuremberg  and  the 
belfry  of  Brouges. 

Was  wakeful  last  night  and  as  usual  at  such  times,  of  late, 
was  visited  by  visions  of  my  historical  novel.  Persons,  traits, 
incidents,  crowded  upon  me.  Till  after  ten  this  morning  wrote 
down  memories  of  these  visions.  Some  portions  of  the  plot 
have  been  greatly  developed  and  several  characters  made  dis 
tinct. 

Leipzig,  22  January.  Eleven  to  twelve,  being  unfit  for  work, 
went  forth,  heard  Arndt  on  Allegemeine  Verfassungsgeschichte 
des  Mittelalters.  About  twelve  hearers.  He  is  a  man  of  about 
fifty-five,  gray- whiskered,  with  a  most  genial  face  and  spirit; 
his  voice  deep  but  mellow  and  flexible.  He  sits,  stands,  leans 
over,  moves  about,  gets  tired  of  any  one  position,  gets  up  and 
pulls  down  his  vest,  and  even  adjusts  the  position  of  his  trousers; 
and  is  altogether  and  very  quietly  at  home.  The  lecture  im 
pressed  me  as  scientific  and  thorough,  very  solid,  no  flourishes. 
At  twelve  went  to  hear  the  elder  Delitsch.  A  large  room,  many 
students.  He  came  in  with  tottering  steps  and  the  movement 
of  old  age;  wears  no  glasses;  seems  to  be  nearly  eighty;  his 
voice  too  feeble  for  the  room;  and  in  the  early  part  of  the  lecture 
his  face  was  turned  away  from  the  class,  and  part  of  the  time  he 
talked  to  the  blackboard.  We  could  hear  only  a  murmur  of 


238  'MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

indistinguishable  sounds.  Some  of  the  students  were  laughing 
at  the  absurdity  of  the  performance.  He  wrote  on  the  black 
board  names  of  certain  Israelitish  kings.  Then  read  slowly  the 
leading  propositions  of  his  lecture;  but  the  class  often  scraped 
the  floor  for  repetition,  which  he  seldom  gave  them.  The 
scraping  was  met  by  hisses. 

At  eight  in  the  evening  went  to  Dr.  Delitsch's  Anglo-American 
seminary.  About  twenty  persons  were  present.  He  came  in 
like  a  picturesque  old  sage  and  prophet;  was  reverently  assisted 
in  removing  his  overcoat.  At  table  he  read  in  English  a  brief 
thesis  about  miracles,  stopping  after  every  proposition  and 
elaborating  it  in  German.  Was  rather  acute  and  effective. 
After  he  had  done,  the  names  of  all  present  were  given  to  him, 
and  he  spoke  to  two  or  three  persons.  He  tried  to  talk  in  Eng 
lish.  He  spoke  with  much  hesitation  and  his  pronunciation  was 
very  Teutonic.  A  Mr.  Curtis  was  introduced  to  him.  The  old 
man  brightened  up  at  the  name,  and  thought  of  his  friend 
Professor  Curtis,  of  Chicago.  He  wanted  to  say,  "You  are 
one  of  the  sons  of  Professor  Curtis?"  but  he  lapsed  into  this 
delightful  variation:  "Are  you  one  of  the  parents  of  Professor 
Curtis?" 

Afterward  walked  to  Lindeneau,  and  talked  with  the  miller 
who  occupies  the  house  in  which  Napoleon  rested  on  his  retreat. 
In  evening  I  read  in  Carlyle's  Life  of  Schiller.  Tame! 

Leipzig,  2Q  January.  Resumed  reading  in  Gellert's  Fabeln, 
182-208.  Again  read  in  Hauff.  All  the  world  is  agog  at  the 
election  of  Boulanger  by  the  people  of  Paris.  What  next? 
France  in  the  hands  of  an  adventurer.  If  he  takes  supreme  power, 
can  he  hold  it  without  a  war  with  Germany? 

Three  to  four,  Gess's  lecture.  Six  to  seven,  Seydel  lecture. 
A  face  like  Melancthon,  intellectual,  delicate,  sensitive,  spiritual, 
affectionate.  He  takes  his  chair,  pauses  a  little,  reads  and 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  239 

improvises  in  a  gentle,  clear  voice;  full  of  refinement  and  beauty. 
Was  able  to  follow  him  very  well. 

Leipzig,  i  February.  Accepted  invitation  to  supper  at  Pro 
fessor  Maurenbrecher's  house.  His  wife,  a  handsome  woman 
of  about  fifty,  black  eyes,  a  face  of  intelligence  and  strong  char 
acter,  born  and  bred  in  London,  though  of  German  parentage; 
speaks  English  with  a  perfect  accent.  Evidently  (as  gossip 
says)  the  master  of  the  situation,  the  ruler  of  her  own  household, 
her  huge,  fat  husband  included.  With  so  remarkable  a  memory 
and  so  wide  a  range  of  knowledge  that  her  husband  constantly 
appeals  to  her  for  information  as  the  talk  goes  on;  and  she  gen 
erally  produces  it.  Thus  he  and  I  were  talking  about  Ranke, 
and  the  question  was  asked  in  what  month  did  he  die.  Across 
the  table  to  her,  who  was  talking  with  others:  "Mamma,  in 
what  month  did  Ranke  die?"  (Instantly):  "In  1886  — in 
May!"  So  of  names,  of  persons,  places,  books,  etc.  She  said 
she  was  expected  to  have  learned  everything  and  to  remem 
ber  it. 

I  told  him  that  in  his  lectures  on  Quellenkunde  I  had  been 
waiting  to  hear  what  opinion  he  had  of  Kinglake's  Crimean  war; 
and  that  perhaps  he  had  spoken  of  it  sometime  when  I  was  absent. 
He:  "No,  I  have  not  spoken  of  it."  Then,  after  a  delay,  as 
if  waiting  for  me  to  speak,  he  added:  "Do  you  think  highly 
of  the  book?"  I  gave  him  my  opinion  of  it,  and  his  look  and 
words  indicated  that  he  had  not  read  it,  though  he  chose  not 
to  say  so.  There  was  a  little  apparent  finesse  in  covering  up  the 
fact  or  avoiding  the  avowal  of  it.  But  his  bright  wife,  in  the 
midst  of  the  talk  around  the  table,  caught  the  name  Kinglake, 
instantly  gave  the  title  of  the  book,  and  added  that  the  Tauch- 
nitz  edition  had  recently  been  announced  as  ready,  probably 
the  final  volume  lately  published  in  England.  The  Kaiser 
Wilhelm  II,  as  Prince  William,  studied  at  Bonn  ten  years  ago 


24o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

and  had  heard  Maurenbrecher's  lectures,  he  said.  For  two 
years  was  very  earnest  and  inquisitive,  used  to  wait  near  the 
window  or  on  the  the  stairway  after  the  lecture  to  meet  Mauren- 
brecher  and  to  ask  him  about  various  points  in  the  lecture;  the 
exact  meaning  to  this,  where  he  could  read  upon  that,  etc.  He 
had  a  mind  of  his  own;  formed  his  own  opinions  to  an  unusual 
degree;  and  at  that  time  was  not  a  friend  or  admirer  of  Bis 
marck's;  was  still  under  his  mother's  influence.  Mauren- 
brecher  said  that  if  he  had  never  done  anything  else  in  life,  he 
should  always  feel  some  content  over  the  fact  that  in  conversa 
tion  he  had  constantly  impressed  on  the  Prince  the  great  service 
and  ability  of  Bismarck,  and  had  perhaps  set  a-going  the  in 
fluence  which  had  conduced  to  his  present  complete  intimacy 
and  concord  with  his  great  chancellor.  He  was  often  with  the 
Prince  bei  Tisch. 

Maurenbrecher  said  further:  "The  Prince  may  not  think  great 
thoughts,  but  he  certainly  thinks;  every  thought  of  his  has  to 
pass  through  his  own  mind  first.  As  to  character  —  ah!  he  is 
not  'liebenswiirdig'  like  the  old  Kaiser;  he  can  be  very  hard 
and  harsh  and  impolite  and  even  savage."  Maurenbrecher 
kindly  offered  to  show  me  his  seminar  rooms  and  agreed  to  call 
for  me  next  Tuesday  at  half-past  four. 

They  have  four  sons  —  the  second  one  only  eighteen  and 
weighing  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds,  as  his  father  said,  but 
the  son  corrected  it  by  saying  it  was  only  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
nine. 

,A  sweet  young  lady  from  Diisseldorf ,  introduced  as  his  niece, 
was  there  on  a  visit  to  them,  with  a  charming  broken  English; 
a  noble,  sensitive,  good  face;  and  eyes  full  of  tenderness,  truth, 
and  trustfulness.  The  only  other  guest  was  Dr.  William  Busch, 
privat-docent,  pet  of  Maurenbrecher's;  with  facile  and  self- 
confident  courtesy,  and  ample  social  courage;  jovial,  ready, 
affable;  never  forgetting  himself,  and  a  bit  of  an  actor  in 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  241 

look,  tone,  gestures,  etc.  He  escorted  me  home  with  great 
and  deferential  cordiality  —  apparently;  though  I  had  my 
doubts. 

We  sat  at  Abendbrod  from  about  twenty  minutes  past  eight 
till  nearly  eleven;  great  eaters  —  especially  Maurenbrecher  and 
his  fat  son;  no  beer;  but  as  Rhinelanders  they  had  wine  — 
white  and  red.  Maurenbrecher  grew  very  jolly. 

Once  Maurenbrecher  was  about  to  tell  me  something  in  German 
and  began  by  saying:  "Herr  Professor,  will  you  understand 
what  I  am  going  to  say?  " 

Of  course,  the  question  was  worthy  of  an  Irishman.  I  paused 
an  instant  till  he  should  realize  it;  and  then  said,  "I  hope 


so." 


Maurenbrecher  laughed  uproariously,  rolled  his  mountain  belly 
around,  and  clicked  glasses  over  the  speech. 

Speaking  of  the  Austrian  Crown  Prince  Rudolph,  just  dead 
by  his  own  hand,  I  asked  Maurenbrecher  if  the  Prince  were  not 
rather  dissipated.  In  a  low  voice  and  leaning  toward  me  as  if 
in  confidence,  he  replied,  "As  dissipated  as  a  human  being 
could  be." 

Leipzig,  4  February.  Read  all  the  morning  in  Hauff ;  finished 
the  sixth  volume  of  Marchen,  and  began  to  read  Lichtenstein. 
Not  in  good  trim  for  work.  Went  to  the  university  library 
to  find  some  books  on  American  history.  Want  to  look  over 
Berkeley's  reign  in  Virginia.  Found  few  books  and  no  con 
veniences.  From  six  to  seven,  lecture  by  Maurenbrecher, 
concerning  Bismarck's  Briefe;  he  said  that  Ranke  had  in  con 
versation  passed  this  judgment  upon  them:  "If  Bismarck  were 
not  the  greatest  statesman  of  Germany,  he  would  be  its  greatest 
schriftsteller,  after  Goethe." 

Last  Friday  evening  Maurenbrecher  offered  to  show  me  his 
seminar  rooms,  etc.  He  chose  this  afternoon  at  half -past  four 


242  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  meet  me  here  on  his  way  thither  and  I  told  him  I  would  await 
him  at  the  front  door.  There  I  waited  from  twenty  minutes 
past  four  till  five.  He  did  not  come,  and  he  sent  me  no  message 
at  his  lecture.  This  sort  of  thing,  I  am  told,  is  characteristic 
of  him;  he  is  too  facile  in  making  promises  and  doesn't  keep  his 
engagements.  His  lectures  yesterday  and  to-day  on  Italian 
affairs  under  Cavour's  hand  have  been  very  brilliant  and  im 
passioned. 

Leipzig,  8  February.  Read  Lichtenstein,  which  proves  to  be 
a  charming  romance.  Maurenbrecher  came  at  twenty  minutes 
past  six  into  his  lecture  room;  but,  finding  that  he  had  not 
brought  his  manuscript  with  him,  could  not  lecture.  He  dis 
missed  his  audience  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  way.  I  thought 
he  did  not  avail  himself  of  his  opportunity  to  give  a  good  general 
talk;  but  few  Germans  seem  able  to  meet  sudden  emergencies. 
At  seven,  at  Gevandhaus  —  new  oratorio,  Constantia.  Not 
a  masterpiece. 

Leipzig,  10  February.  All  the  morning  wrote  letters.  Re 
ceived  one  from  the  Adams  Publishing  Company,  of  Springfield, 
Massachusetts,  respecting  a  republication  of  my  Brawnville 
papers. 

Leipzig,  ip  February.  Gave  two  hours  to  second  reading  of 
Lichtenstein,  looking  out  carefully  every  word  concerning  which 
I  was  uncertain.  In  the  afternoon  made  farewell  calls  and  took 
a  parting  drink  of  beer  with  the  ever-friendly  consul. 

Leipzig,  20  February.  At  twenty-five  minutes  past  seven 
left  for  Weimar  and  reached  it  at  ten.  Rain  falling,  soon  turned 
into  wet  snow;  the  streets  and  walks  sloppy  and  dirty.  I  first 
walked  about  the  place,  through  the  leading  streets,  saw  the 
chief  buildings,  statues,  tablets,  etc.  Then  visited  the  Goethe 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  243 

house  —  an  abode  fit  for  a  great  poet;  was  most  impressed  by 
his  work  room  and  bedroom  —  their  severe  simplicity,  noHcarpet, 
only  a  fragment  of  one  in  front  of  the  bed,  etc. 

Then  took  lunch;  went  to  the  Schiller  house  and  saw  the 
plain  deal  bedstead  on  which  he  died;  then  to  the  Wittheimer 
Palais  —  deeply  impressed  by  the  portrait  of  Schiller  and  Fred 
erick  the  Great;  then  to  the  statue  of  Herder  and  the  house  in 
which  he  lived  and  died.  It  was  now  a  quarter  past  three  and 
dark;  the  chief  houses  closed;  my  feet  were  wet;  and  I  hurried 
to  catch  the  swift  train  for  Leipzig,  where  I  arrived  at  six.  Was 
deeply  charmed  with  Weimar.  Should  love  to  stay  there  a 
whole  summer  and  read  in  the  poets  who  lived  there. 

Munchen,  15  March.  Went  to  Neue  and  Alte  Pinakothek, 
which  are  wonderful  collections  of  old  masters,  but  especially  of 
Rubens,  Rembrandt,  and  Van  Dyke.  Galleries  cold. 

Walked  to  cemetery  —  a  dismal  effort  at  landscape  and 
architectural  beauty;  monuments  high,  thick,  and  unlovely. 
Looked  into  the  rooms  where  the  dead  must  lie  exposed  for  two 
or  three  days  —  each  corpse  in  contact  with  an  electrified  wire 
by  which  a  bell  rings  in  case  of  resuscitation. 

At  eight  we  went  for  Abendbrod  to  Englisches  caf6  and 
had  our  first  taste  of  Salvator  Bier  —  sickish  stuff  —  too  sweet. 

Munchen,  20  March.  Read  about  fifty  pages  in  Freytag. 
Delightful  for  its  humor  and  its  clear  dramatic  gleams  of  human 
nature.  Visited  the  studio  of  the  famous  Defregger.  His 
studio,  a  separate  house  in  his  grounds  —  very  ample  and  com 
modious  and  gave  me  heartache  for  my  lost  study. 

From  four  to  seven  walked  to  the  Zacherlische  Brauerei, 
and  saw  an  immense  crowd  of  people  —  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  —  drinking  immense  quantities  of  Salvator  Bier,  a  spectacle 
of  sheer  barbarous  enjoyment  —  unmitigated  swilling;  unre 
lieved  by  a  touch  of  delicacy,  or  art. 


244  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Munchen,  28  March.  Read  nearly  one  hundred  pages  in 
Soil  und  Haben.  It  is  full  of  power;  its  humor  is  delicious,  its 
touches  of  human  nature  and  character  neat  and  vivid;  some 
passages  of  high  poetic  and  philosophic  beauty.  Weather 
very  Miinchenish. 

The  morning  paper  gives  news  of  the  death  of  John  Bright. 
Letter  from  Houghton  concerning  publication  of  a  new  edition 
of  Brawnville  papers. 

Freiburg,  28  April.  Went  early  to  the  cathedral.  Densely 
crowded  with  men,  women,  and  children;  multitudes  standing. 
The  scene  most  impressive. 

Between  nine  and  ten  called  on  Von  Hoist,  who  lives  in  a 
stately  house  and  is  a  man  of  very  high  consideration  here.  He 
received  me  very  cordially.  His  wife  was  to  have  a  surgical 
operation  to-day,  and  I  spent  only  half  an  hour  with  him.  At 
about  half-past  eleven  took  the  train  for  Strassburg.  Here 
I  am  at  Hotel  Pfeiffer.  After  dinner  and  rest  walked  to  the 
cathedral.  Was  greatly  awed  by  its  interior.  Heard  a  good 
sermon  delivered  before  a  woman's  Verein  for  benevolent  work, 
and  was  almost  the  only  man  in  a  great  throng  of  women. 

Then  went  to  the  new  palace  of  the  German  Kaiser  and 
finally  to  the  university,  which  is  the  most  sumptuous  university 
edifice  I  have  seen  in  Germany.  Came  back  and  lingered  near 
the  cathedral  till  nearly  dark. 

Heidelberg,  i  May.  At  a  quarter  of  nine  left  Stuttgart  and 
reached  here  at  about  fifteen  minutes  past  twelve. 

Looked  in  at  the  university  just  in  time  to  hear  the  first 
lecture  of  Kuno  Fisher  on  the  History  of  Greek  philosophy. 
The  room  was  half  full;  he  was  much  applauded  as  he  came  in 
and  went  out;  his  elocution  suggested  that  he  had  memorized 
his  lecture  —  which  was  perfect  in  arrangement  and  diction 
and  most  fluently  spoken.  To  my  great  surprise  I  was  able 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  245 

to  follow  him.  I  could  see  that  he  had  influenced  Schurman's 
method  as  a  lecturer,  while  also  the  latter  has  points  of  difference 
in  manner  —  preserves  his  own  originality,  and  reveals  a  humbler, 
gentler,  and  nobler  spirit. 

Eeidelbergy  9  May.  In  the  afternoon  read  much  of  G.  P.  R. 
James's  novel  Heidelberg,  which  quite  held  me,  perhaps  more 
on  account  of  the  local  interest.  Am  now  quite  ready  to  move 
on  down  the  Rhine.  I  long  for  London  and  to  get  to  work  in 
the  British  Museum. 

London,  21  May,  27  Woburn  Place,  Russell  Square.  We 
are  to  have  a  whole  floor,  three  rooms,  with  attendance,  gas, 
and  cooking,  for  thirty  shillings  a  week.  After  dinner  I  rode 
to  Trafalgar  Square,  then  walked  through  the  dear  old  Strand 
to  Chancery  Lane  and  home.  Good,  good! 

London,  24  May.     With  and  my  girls  went  on  top 

of  'bus  to  London  bridge;  then  by  boat  to  Cadogan  Pier,  Chel 
sea;  saw  the  houses  of  Carlyle  and  George  Eliot;  and  came 
back  the  same  way.  Sent  word  of  our  arrival  to  McCarthy, 
Harold  Frederic,  etc.  In  evening  heard  Spurgeon  at  Exeter 
Hall  —  a  great  speech  by  a  great  orator.  When  he  arose,  the 
audience  waved  handkerchiefs  and  hats,  and  cheered  for  several 
minutes.  He  began  humbly,  referring  to  his  fatigue  and  illness, 
and  feared  he  could  not  meet  their  wishes;  and  then  at  once 
began  to  talk  directly  to  the  young  men  —  first  to  those  who 
were  not  Christians  and  then  to  those  who  were.  It  was  coura 
geous,  practical,  pungent,  occasionally  humorous,  but  deeply 
impressive  and  stirring.  He  referred  to  the  tendencies  of  the 
age;  said  people  told  him  he  should  keep  abreast  of  them,  but 
his  idea  of  it  was  this:  There  were  the  tendencies  of  the  age 
coming  down  pell  mell  against  them,  and  all  bad;  and  he  was  for 
standing  up  and  breasting  them.  This  was  thrilling  and  aroused 


246  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

great  feeling.  He  was  very  eloquent  when  he  appealed  to  the 
young  men  to  keep  themselves  pure  and  unspotted.  After  his 
speech  the  audience  arose  and  shouted  as  he  hobbled  from  the 
stage,  and  people  gathered  about  his  carriage  in  the  street  and 
he  shook  hands  with  all  in  reach. 

London,  25  May.  After  nine  went  to  University  College  and 
got  prospectus;  then  to  National  Gallery  and  spent  an  hour 
and  a  half;  then  sat  awhile  on  the  steps  looking  at  the  vast 
crowds  in  Trafalgar  Square,  and  then  walked  home  through 
Regent  and  Oxford  streets.  At  half-past  two  went  to  British 
Museum  and  was  told  that  "once  a  reader  always  a  reader"; 
was  recognized  by  one  of  the  old  attendants  at  the  door,  and 
made  a  start  for  reading. 

London,  26  May.  At  eleven,  Foundlings  Hospital  chapel. 
Sermon  by  the  rector,  Dr.  Momerie  —  a  witty,  not  very  reverent, 
but  pungent  and  courageous  attack  on  the  doctrine  of  the  physical 
resurrection. 

London,  27  May.  At  half-past  five  called  on  Harold  Frederic. 
Saw  his  wife,  and  then  later  he  came  in;  my  first  sight  of  him. 
About  thirty-three;  perhaps  five  feet  ten,  big  bellied,  stout, 
with  a  strong,  healthy  look,  and  the  dress  and  manners  of  a 
London  artist  or  journalist.  Talks  easily  and  well;  a  well- 
poised,  confident  bearing,  slightly  recalling  some  of  the  ways 
of  Theodore  Til  ton.  Seems  quite  settled  into  London  life;  his 
wife  thinks  she  can  never  bear  anything  else. 

At  eight,  by  appointment,  to  the  National  Liberal  club  — 
a  superb,  great  affair;  then  looked  in  at  the  Salisbury  club, 
and  later,  at  a  club  in  Covent  Garden  —  the  latter  the 
transformation  of  a  historical  place.  Home  at  midnight. 

London,  29  May.  At  half-past  two  at  London  Library  in  St. 
James's  Square.  Annual  meeting.  Mr.  Gladstone  presided 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  247 

and  made  a  brief,  quiet  address.   He  has  aged  much  since  I  last 
saw  him;  has  almost  no  hair  on  the  side  and  back  of  head. 
To  bed  at  nine  —  not  exactly  London  bedtime. 

London,  May  30.  Worked  at  British  Museum  until  half-past 
eleven;  then  at  Harold  Frederic's.  Looked  at  manuscript 
of  a  new  novel  he  is  writing.  With  him  for  lunch  to  the  Savage 
club,  where  we  ate  and  drank  with  Moffat  and  Forman,  and 
David  Christie  Murray,  the  latter  a  novelist  and  good  talker. 

In  afternoon  went  to  Mile  End  Road  and  saw  the  People's 
Palace  —  the  realized  dream  of  the  novelist  Walter  Besant. 
Received  notice  of  election  as  honorary  member  of  National 
Liberal  club  and  of  the  Century  club. 

London,  4  June.  Nine  to  one,  British  Museum.  Am  getting 
deeply  interested  in  Sir  William  Berkeley,  and  can  see  materials 
for  a  fine  book  on  his  life  and  times.  Much  new  materials  are 
available,  and  many  errors  might  be  corrected.  Am  tempted 
to  do  it,  instead  of  the  novel.  But,  succeeded  in  discover 
ing  the  date  and  place  of  Sir  William  Berkeley's  birth.  At 
seven,  Savage  club  dinner  (at  the  Criterion)  to  David  Chris 
tie  Murray.  I  was  the  guest  of  Harold  Frederic.  Came  away 
at  eleven  in  the  evening.  Edmund  Yates  presided;  a  rather 
second-rate  and  very  bohemian  affair. 

London,  28  June.  In  evening  at  annual  meeting  of  the  English 
Goethe  Society.  An  exquisite  address  by  Edward  Dowden  on 
Goethe  and  the  French  revolution.  Dowden  himself  a  refined, 
strong  man  of  perhaps  forty-five  —  gentle,  pleasing,  firm, 
simple. 

London,  14  July.  At  seven,  Westminster  Abbey  —  service 
marred  by  the  incivility  of  a  disagreeable  usher.  The  discourse 
was  by  Professor  Jowett,  and  was  in  memory  of  Dean  Stanley; 
a  fine  essay,  but  unsuitable  for  such  an  assemblage,  and  tamely 
read. 


248  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  16  July.  At  just  ten  minutes  before  one,  at  British 
Museum,  finished  my  last  piece  of  work  —  serious  work  —  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  For  the  rest  of  the  time  before  August 
24  I  shall  play.  That  does  not  exclude  my  writing  a  bit 
mornings.  My  work  in  London  has  been  an  attempt  to  under 
stand  Sir  William  Berkeley  and  his  administration,  particularly 
the  closing  portion  of  it,  including  Bacon's  rebellion.  There  is 
work  here  for  a  strong,  good  historical  biography,  but  probably 
I  shall  never  undertake  it.  I  have  now  put  myself  in  pretty 
good  condition  to  work  out  the  plot  of  my  novel  —  covering 
the  years  1675,  6,  and  7.  I  feel  some  anxious  curiosity  to  find 
out  whether  I  have  it  in  me  to  do  good  work  in  that  field  and  if 
so  I  shall  follow  it  up  —  I  mean  the  field  of  fiction  —  particularly, 
at  first,  the  historical  romance. 

1ETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  MOTHER 

Chester,  England,  2  August,  i88p 
MY  DEAR  MOTHER: 

Since  it  is  my  birthday,  I  think  I  will  write  you  a  short  letter 
which  I  hope  may  reach  you  on  your  birthday;  although  I 
know  that  the  congratulations  which  will  greet  you  on  attaining 
the  honor  of  being  eighty-two  years  old  will  be  tempered  with 
sadness  by  the  thought  of  the  great  sorrow  we  all  feel  over  the 
dreadful  affliction  which  has  befallen  poor  John.  [He  died  the 
day  after  these  words  were  written.] 

Indeed,  this  last  year  has  brought  to  me  many  griefs  through 
death,  sickness,  and  other  misfortunes,  and  has  given  to  all  life 
a  more  sombre  hue  than  it  has  ever  before  worn  for  me. 

I  hope  these  few  lines  will  find  you  in  serene  spirits  and  bearing 
cheerfully  the  weight  of  all  the  years  which  rest  upon  you,  and 
that  the  Light  which  is  brighter  than  that  of  the  sun  may  ever 
stream  around  your  footsteps. 

We  have  just  passed  a  very  restful  month  in  Stratford-on- 
Avon;  and  are  now  greatly  enjoying  our  stay  in  this  city,  which 
is  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  picturesque  towns  in  England  — 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  249 

dating  back  to  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar.  We  are  going  this 
afternoon  to  see  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  bath  which  has  lately 
been  exhumed  and  which  is  perhaps  two  thousand  years  old. 
In  just  three  weeks  from  to-day  we  expect  to  sail  for  home  — 
a  prospect  to  which  we  look  forward  with  great  eagerness. 

Your  affectionate  son,  MOSES. 

Ithaca,  19  November.  We  landed  in  New  York  on  Sunday, 
September  i,  and  came  here  on  the  third  of  September.  For 
about  two  weeks  I  was  busy  with  repairs  and  changes  in  the 
house.  Then  settled  down  to  writing  lectures  on  Constitutional 
history  of  the  colonies.  Have  written  and  delivered  fifteen. 
During  the  past  week  have  resumed  work  on  the  History  of 
American  literature  from  1765  to  1815.  Just  now  on  Joel 
Barlow.  Can  give  only  an  hour  or  two  a  day  at  present.  But 
it  is  a  joy  to  have  got  started  at  it  once  more. 

Ithaca,  20  November.  Last  night  I  turned  a  man  named  Eaton 
out  of  my  senior-graduate  seminary  on  account  of  incivility 
and  incompetence.  Two  more  will  have  to  go  for  the  latter 
reason;  and  two  more  ought  to.  Never  have  I  felt  so  strong 
a  grip  on  my  work  since  I  came  here.  The  great  incident  of 
my  life,  since  my  return  home,  is  my  break  with  President 
C.  K.  Adams.  We  are  no  longer  friends  —  acquaintances  merely. 
Perhaps  I  shall  jot  down  some  day  the  facts  which  have  dissolved 
a  very  intimate  relation,  lasting  nearly  twenty  years. 

Ithaca,  21  November.  From  eight  to  eleven  forty-five,  at 
home  study,  on  Joel  Barlow.  Read  for  second  time  three  books 
of  The  columbiad  and  made  notes  on  some  of  his  small  poems. 

Ithaca,  November  22.  I  am  very  happy  to  be  in  my  private 
study  and  to  be  at  my  history  once  more.  Am  reading  Book 
VIII  of  The  columbiad  and  am  greatly  stirred  by  the  tremendous 
passage  against  African  slavery  in  America.  The  political, 


250  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

ethical,  and  patriotic  thought  is  noble.  His  biographer,  Todd, 
has  done  his  work  inadequately.  There  were  materials  for  a 
great  biography. 

This  leads  me  to  think  of  my  old  plan  of  writing  a  series  of 
condensed  American  biographies  as  my  next  work  after  finishing 
the  History  of  American  literature.  I  must  have  one  on  Bar 
low.  Worked  till  nearly  twelve  on  him  for  the  History;  and 
began  to  write  a  first  draft.  Lecture  3:30  to  4:30.  From 
half -past  four  to  a  quarter  past  six,  faculty  meeting.  Another 
of  those  painful  scenes  which  have  become  so  frequent  under 
C.  K.  Adams's  tactless  rule.  I  felt  real  pity  for  this  poor  old 
pachyderm  of  a  president,  persistently  reiterating  the  same  old 
blunders  and  plunging  forever  into  the  quagmire  deeper  and 
deeper. 

Ithaca,  25  November.  Till  twelve  on  Barlow.  Trying  to 
get  into  the  swing  of  real  literary  work.  Hard  after  so  long 
disuse.  To  write  artistically  is  tenfold  more  exhausting  than 
any  other  kind  of  work  I  ever  tried,  except  night  oratory.  This 
morning  worked  slowly  and  delicately  over  the  first  three  or 
four  pages  of  my  manuscript  on  Joel  Barlow;  and  it  told  more 
on  my  nervous  life  than  any  amount  of  the  rough  work  of  making 
lectures  on  American  constitutional  history  and  law. 

Ithaca,  7  December.  For  several  days  have  been  somewhat 
dejected  by  the  mediocrity  of  my  materials  for  American  liter 
ary  history  between  1765  and  1815;  but  a  reading  of  several 
chapters  written  some  years  ago  restores  to  me  somewhat  my 
courage  and  gives  me  hope  that  a  true,  honest,  scientific,  and 
yet  attractive  piece  of  work  can  be  built  on  that  territory. 

Read  a  bit  in  Swinburne's  new  book  —  A  study  of  Ben  Jonson. 
What  a  debased  style  is  that  of  Swinburne. 

Ithaca,  12  December.  At  half-past  three  gave  my  last  lecture 
this  term,  ending  the  work  as  well  as  I  had  ever  hoped  to  do  it. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  251 

Upon  the  whole,  this  term  has  been  for  me  the  best  one  I  have 
ever  had  since  I  began  this  career  of  professor  —  the  most 
concentrated,  effective,  and  fruitful. 

Ithaca,  i $  December.  A  call  in  the  parlor  this  evening  from 
C.  K.  Adams.  He  was  not  at  all  at  his  ease;  and  gasped  and 
floundered  more  than  usual.  I  manifested  no  cordiality,  but 
treated  him  with  cool  civility,  and  the  conversation  went  on 
for  an  hour. 

I  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and  as  he  walked  away  he 
turned  half  around  in  an  awkward  sort  of  way  as  if  expecting 
me  to  say  some  relenting  word.  Poor  old  pachyderm  —  be 
fooling  himself  with  the  dream  of  being  a  Bismarck. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

1890 

Ithaca,  16  January.  Have  been  reading  considerable  German 
—  Kauri's  Novellen,  Freytag's  Verlorene  Handschrift,  Die  Heilige 
Schrift,  u.  s.  w. 

I  am  stuck  in  the  mud  of  Joel  Barlow,  and  cannot  pull  myself 
out;  neither  can  I  do  anything  else  till  I  have  got  out.  So, 
with  rather  invalid  strength,  I  began  to  tug  away  this  morning 
and  tired  myself  out  in  two  hours. 

Ithaca,  17  January.  Till  after  twelve  toiling  on  this  vexa 
tious  task  of  finishing  up  my  chapter  on  Joel  Barlow.  Shall 
have  to  give  it  several  mornings  more,  I  fear. 

Ithaca,  18  January.  Physically  and  mentally  depressed,  per 
haps  the  effect  of  my  recent  illness.  To  be  done  with  Joel  Barlow 
being  my  present  necessity,  I  pounded  away  on  him  all  the  morn 
ing  and  perhaps  have  got  to  the  end  of  my  treatment  of  The 
columbiad.  If  so,  it  will  be  easier  to  deal  with  his  minor  writings. 

Ithaca,  20  January.  Though  lacking  strength,  toiled  away 
at  Joel  —  revising  what  I  wrote  Saturday,  and  beginning  an 
account  of  his  minor  writings.  Progress  is  visible,  and  I  hope 
the  end  is  not  far  off.  Anxious  to  get  on  to  the  next  topic. 

Ithaca,  21  January.  With  better  vigor  returned  to  the  siege 
of  Joel  Barlow.  Dealt  with  his  Conspiracy  of  kings  and  Hasty 
pudding.  Lecture  at  half-past  three.  Seminary  at  seven. 

Ithaca,  22  January.  Cold  weather.  Good!  All  the 
morning  on  Joel  Barlow.  Have  finished  his  political  writings, 

252 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  253 

and  am  now  studying  his  prose.  The  evangelist  Moody  held 
a  meeting  at  Barnes  Hall  at  five.  Great  crowd.  Was  most  pain 
fully  impressed  by  the  jocular,  vulgarizing,  crude  tone  of  the  man. 

Ithaca,  26  January.  Slept  but  little  last  night.  Unfit  for 
controversy  and  business;  and  a  personal  war,  like  this,  is  at 
war  with  my  nature.  [This  has  reference  to  relations  with  C. 
K.  Adams.]  Regrets  and  sad  memories  poured  through  my 
mind  all  night.  But  I  am  in  the  path  of  duty  and  must  not 
flinch.  I  never  was  in  a  fight  before;  and  I  am  not  going  out 
of  this  fight  behind. 

Ithaca,  27  January.  With  a  tired  brain  worked  for  two  hours 
on  the  prose  of  Joel  Barlow,  and  then  went  to  the  library  to  try 
to  settle  some  bibliographical  questions  about  him.  Afterward 

looked    over    class    papers    at    office.     At    dinner    Mr. 

called  and  stated  that  the  president  could  not  attend  the  meeting 
of  Senate  committee  on  Tuesday  evening.  On  my  way  to 
lecture  I  called  on  President  Adams  and  arranged  for  Thursday 
evening.  Our  interview  was  formal,  cold,  and,  on  his  part, 
almost  harsh. 

Ithaca,  28  January.  Not  up  to  the  mark  for  good  brain  work. 
Pottered  awhile  on  Barlow's  prose,  and  then  prepared  lecture 
on  The  first  colonial  patent  of  James  I.  Seven  to  half -past  eight, 
seminary.  Later,  read  a  bit  of  P.  Bayne's  Life  of  Luther,  a 
flashy,  trashy  sort  of  an  attempt  at  popularizing  history. 

Ithaca,  2  February.  Read  to-day  in  Charles  Beard's  Martin 
Luther  —  a  masterpiece  of  historical  scholarship  and  of  English 
style.  My  Sunday  reading  now  is  to  be  on  Luther  and  the  Refor 
mation.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  study  more  closely  that  won 
drous  man.  The  strain  of  work  this  past  week,  especially  con 
nected  with  our  committee  and  Senate  meetings,  leaves  me 


254  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

very  tired  to-day.  Am  much  impressed  by  the  possibility  of 
spiritual  and  mental  discipline  to  be  got  from  practice  in  the 
business  of  faculty  discussions  —  a  thing  calling,  in  high  degree, 
for  self-control  and  mental  resource. 

Ithaca,  3  February.  Nearly  all  the  morning  looking  over 
John  Trumbull  things.  Ah,  yes;  the  last  two  hours,  preparing 
lecture  on  Early  colonial  patents.  Came  a  sweet,  old-fashioned 
letter  from  Andrew  D.  White,  suggesting  that  I  should  write 
an  American  Plutarch  —  really  an  old  idea  of  my  own.  This 
letter  will  strengthen  my  inclination  thereto.  When  my  Ameri 
can  literature  is  done  —  if  there  is  anything  left  of  me  —  perhaps 
I'll  give  it  to  this. 

Ithaca ,  6  February.  Again  all  morning  on  colonies;  and  the 
new  lecture  thus  written  went  off  well  in  the  afternoon;  especial 
uproar  of  fun  over  the  ludicrously  unintelligible  boundaries 
of  Rhode  Island. 

Ithaca,  ip  February.  Ash  Wednesday.  Had  a  bad  night. 
Unable  to  do  real  work  to-day.  Head  very  tired.  After  prepar 
ing  for  my  class,  wandered  off  in  the  fresh  air  and  visited  a 
peaceful  and  inviting  spot  —  the  East  Lawn  cemetery  —  looking 
about  for  a  good,  comfortable  place  in  which  this  poor  body  may 
be  laid  to  rest.  Could  not  go  to  church.  Felt  discouraged 
about  writing. 

Ithaca,  20  February.  Not  in  good  condition  yet.  Pottered 
over  Trumbull,  and  then  gave  up  in  despair.  Gave  the  rest 
of  the  morning  to  arranging  books  and  papers  in  my  study. 

Ithaca,  21  February.  Got  a  slight  start  in  writing  on  John 
Trumbull  —  just  a  gleam  of  intellectual  light;  giving  me  a 
revival  of  hope  that  I  can  still  do  something.  Had  to  spend 
most  of  the  morning  on  class  work.  Half-past  three,  recitation 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  255 

in  American  constitutional  law.  At  half-past  eight,  to  see 
Professor  Palmer,  of  Harvard,  and  his  wife  —  my  old  pupil, 
Alice  Freeman.  A  pleasant  hour.  A  bit  of  good  talk  with 
Palmer.  He  read  a  charming  passage  from  his  translation  of 
the  Odyssey. 

Ithaca,  22  February.  Had  some  good  hours  for  writing.  It 
cheers,  but  does  not  inebriate.  From  half-past  three  to  five 
walked  with  Professor  Palmer,  who  greatly  attracts  me.  He 
told  me  much  of  interest  about  Harvard,  Eliot,  etc. 

Ithaca,  27  February.  Got  about  four  hours  for  work  on  John 
Trumbull.  Am  studying  his  earliest  prose  essays,  about  1768, 
The  correspondent.  Slow,  but  real  work. 

Ithaca,  3  March.  From  half-past  eight  to  half-past  twelve, 
a  good  piece  of  work  on  TrumbulTs  first  essays  —  The  corre 
spondent.  After  lecture  at  half-past  four  walked  in  the  crisp 
air,  over  the  frozen  ground,  out  to  the  Pleasant  Grove  cemetery, 
which  I  rather  prefer  to  the  East  Lawn.  Must  ask  about 
it.  In  evening,  seminar;  then  half  an  hour's  walk. 

Ithaca,  9  March.  Head  and  body  too  tired  to  go  down  to 
St.  John's.  Walked  out  for  a  pair  of  hours  into  the  country. 
At  three  at  chapel;  heard  Dr.  Chamberlain;  it  was  an  over- 
ornamented  effort  at  preaching  the  joy  of  righteousness.  He 
falls  quite  below  my  expectation. 

Ithaca,  10  March.  Spent  the  morning  in  going  over  some 
thirty  pages  of  type- written  copy  on  Trumbull,  verifying, 
correcting,  putting  in  notes,  etc. 

Ithaca,  ii  March.  Finished  revision  of  my  chapter  on  Trum 
bull,  which  at  present  is  carried  only  down  to  1760.  Shall 
hope  to  finish  it  after  my  return  from  New  Haven.  Half -past 


256  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

three,  lecture.    Gave  a  blessing  to  young  T for  his  flimsy 

thesis— r the  young  wind-bag  son. 

New  York,  18  March.  At  New  York  Historical  Society 
library,  looked  over  files  of  Boston  chronicle  for  1769-70,  and 
found  the  ninth  number  of  The  meddler.  In  evening  went  to 
Metropolitan  opera  house  to  grand  spread  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century  club;  heard  lecture  by  Miss  Amelia  B.  Edwards 
on  Egyptian  fiction.  Miss  Edwards  looks  to  be  about  sixty; 
her  left  arm,  recently  broken,  was  hung  in  a  sling;  her  features 
delicate,  fine,  sensitive;  and  a  voice  of  rare  melody,  most  effec 
tively  used  by  her.  The  lecture  was  a  masterpiece  of  felicitous 
literary  statement.  The  great  news  reaches  us  of  Bismarck's 
retirement  —  a  notable  event  for  the  whole  world,  and  the  end 
of  a  great  epoch. 

New  Haven,  19  March.  Left  New  York  at  nine  and  reached 
New  Haven  at  twelve. 

I  write  in  old  Grove  Hall,  looking  out  down  Church  street, 
and  seeing  President  Woolsey's  old  house,  at  which  I  used  to 
gaze  with  awe  as  upon  an  imperial  palace. 

New  Haven,  20  March.  Went  to  library  and  to  work  on 
such  things  as  they" have  on  Trumbull  and  Barlow.  Found  The 
meddler  essays  in  Boston  chronicle.  At  five,  heard  lecture 
by  Professor  George  Adams  on  the  Missouri  compromise  and 
the  Monroe  doctrine;  good,  clear,  business-like  talks;  judicial; 
just  a  trifle  lacking  in  life  and  spirit.  Stopped  and  spoke  with 
him. 

New  Haven,  21  March.  At  half -past  eight  lecture  by  Profess 
or  W.  G.  Sumner  —  or,  rather,  a  class  exercise.  Subject: 
The  American  iron  market  in  relation  to  the  tariff;  first 
fifteen  minutes  class  wrote  in  silence;  papers  were  taken  up, 
then  questions  fired  upon  him  by  the  class.  His  way  of  dealing 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  257 

with  them  was  masterly.  I  never  witnessed  more  admirable 
teaching.  All  tell  me  that  he  wields  an'unrivalled  influence  over 
the  students.  Can  well  believe  it.  I  waited  to  speak  with  him. 
His  manner  to  me  was  formal,  cold.  At  a  quarter  of  ten  went 
to  the  library  and  renewed  work.  All  the  morning  on  the 
Stiles  manuscripts,  which  profoundly  interested  me.  I  wish 
they  were  printed;  a  mass  of  eighteenth-century  science  and 
opinion  and  social  customs.  While  working  was  visited  by 
Lounsbury,  A.  M.  Wheeler,  and  President  Dwight.  The  latter 
was  facetious  and  informal  and  very  pleasant,  but  knew  nothing 
of  any  early  unprinted  writings  of  his  grandfather.  At  three 
in  the  afternoon  Lounsbury  called  by  appointment  for  a  walk. 
He  showed  me  the  courts  of  the  lawn  tennis  club,  with  one 
of  wood  for  winter  use.  He  told  me  of  his  great  work  on  Chau 
cer,  which  he  hopes  to  publish  this  year,  in  two  volumes,  by  the 
Harpers;  an  exhaustive  piece  of  work;  his  magnum  opus  and 
his  monument.  He  has  given  prodigious  work  to  it  the  last 
ten  years;  has  gathered  together  a  great  collection  of  books 
on  the  subject;  hopes  to  deal  completely  with  every  important 
topic  relating  to  Chaucer,  and  to  make  a  book  which  every 
student  of  Chaucer  hereafter  will  need  to  have.  We  gossiped 
about  Yale  faculty  matters.  There  is  a  chronic  unpleasantness 
established  between  Timothy  Dwight  and  the  faculty.  Tim 
is  on  the  whole  a  disappointment.  The  great  need  of  the  college 
is  money  —  unrestrained  in  its  use  for  general  purposes,  especially 
for  increasing  the  force  of  teachers.  Sumner  hates  Dwight,  just 
as  he  did  Porter.  Just  before  five  we  arrived  at  the  library,  where 
I  met  Professor  George  Adams,  with  whom  I  walked  till  six. 
He  speaks  very  modestly  of  his  attainments,  especially  in  Amer 
ican  history,  on  which  he  has  now  to  "cram"  for  his  lectures. 

New  Haven,  22  March.     From  ten  to  one  at  the  Yale  library. 
Finished  my  inspection  of  the  Stiles  manuscripts,  which  have  a 


258  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

biographical  and  historical  value  greater  than  I  expected.  At 
6:00  P.  M.  at  dinner  at  Professor  Lounsbury's.  We  had  a  merry 
evening.  Lounsbury's  talk  is  full  of  life  and  seasoned  with 
humor. 

In  afternoon  long  call  from  Professor  A.  M.  Wheeler;  and 
then  called  on  Professor  Fisher  and  President  Porter.  The 
latter  is  physically  broken  and  infirm  —  a  mere  wreck;  but 
still  teaches  philosophy.  His  instruction  is  a  mere  farce,  and 
greatly  deranges  the  department,  but  the  poor  old  man  — 
partly  from  pride  and  partly  from  the  need  of  his  salary  — 
clings  to  his  professorship,  the  duties  of  which  he  tries  to  dis 
charge.  Sad  that  we  have  not  a  proper  system  for  the  retire 
ment  of  aged,  professors  after  a  life  of  faithful  service. 

Stratford,  Ct.,  24  March.  Left  New  Haven  at  half-past  eight. 
Reached  here  at  about  nine,  and  after  considerable  inquiry  found 
the  house  of  Miss  Linslie  —  a  large,  stately  old  mansion  standing 
in  the  midst  of  perhaps  ten  acres  of  ground.  She  received  me 
at  the  door,  called  me  by  name,  and  ushered  me  into  a  large 
parlor,  in  which  a  wood  fire  was  making  things  cheerful.  After 
some  preliminary  talk  I  proceeded  to  work  with  her  assistance, 
and  went  through  the  last  volume  of  the  Connecticut  gazette, 
but  found  no  Correspondent;  then  began  to  search  the  Journal 
and  Post  boy  through  1768-1769.  Finally  in  1770  found 
the  first  nine  numbers  of  The  correspondent  and  in  1773  found 
the  remainder.  Noted  exact  dates.  Miss  Linslie  kindly  helped 
me  in  copying  and  was  in  all  ways  agreeable  and  kind.  Took 
dinner  with  her,  after  which  she  showed  me  the  old  homes  of 
the  place.  Was  most  interested  in  looking  at  the  site  of  Samuel 
Johnson's  house. 

Ithaca,  8  April.  Finished  lecture  on  Historical  precedents 
for  a  bill  of  rights.  The  world  is  watching  anxiously  the  young 
German  Kaiser,  who  is  now  ruling  without  Bismarck.  Many 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  259 

voices  cry  out  —  audacious,  eccentric,  foolish,  and  predict  dis 
aster.  Somehow,  I  believe  in  him.  Perhaps  he  is  a  genius; 
another  Frederick  the  Great.  All  the  evening  looking  over  my 
old  book,  The  Brawnville  papers,  for  which  there  seems  to  be 
some  demand,  and  I  may  revise  and  republish. 

Ithaca,  24  April.  My  habit  now  is  to  spend  the  first  half 
hour  in  my  study  alone  every  morning  in  religious  devotion, 
reading  Die  deutsche  Bibel  von  Luther,  iibergesetzt;  Thomas 
d  Kempis  und  Pusey's  Prayers. 

Bishop  Doane  preached  morning  and  evening  at  St.  John's. 
He  told  me  that  Lidden  will  not  publish  the  Life  of  Pusey  till 
after  Manning  and  Newman  have  left  this  world.  Doane's 
episcopal  regalia,  with  his  Oxford  hood  blazing  on  his  back, 
made  a  great  sensation,  and  were  far  more  brilliant  than  his 
discourses. 

Ithaca,  8  May.  Beginning  to  weary  of  lecture-making,  as  I 
usually  do  after  I  have  written  a  dozen  or  more  in  quick  suc 
cession.  Long  to  be  at  my  chapter  for  American  literature 
once  more.  At  half-past  eight  went  to  reception  given  to 
Goldwin  Smith.  He  was  very  cordial,  said  he  had  just  been  in 
Washington,  where  he  liked  to  go,  especially  to  see  "old  Ban 
croft,"  as  he  calls  him.  The  latter  was  in  bed;  remembers 
clearly  the  events  and  persons  of  his  early  and  middle  life;  his 
talk  was  full  of  interest  and  charm.  He  was  confused  only  as 
to  where  he  was;  seemed  to  be  uncertain  whether  he  was  in 
Washington  or  Newport.  Goldwin  Smith  thinks  it  doubtful 
whether  Bancroft  has  kept  records  of  his  vast  personal  acquaint 
ance  with  eminent  men  in  Europe  and  America  for  the  past 
seventy  years.  One  other  remark  of  Goldwin  Smith's:  Hag 
gard's  stories  indicate  the  last  attempts  of  fiction  to  keep  itself 
alive  before  it  expires.  The  end  of  novel-writing  has  been 
reached.  In  fact,  there  will  be  no  more  literature.  All  now  is 


a6o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

to  be  science.    We  used  to  tell  Matthew  Arnold  at  Oxford  that 
he  was  the  last,  though  not  the  least,  of  English  poets. 

Ithaca,  ii  May.  At  chapel,  Dr.  Hoge,  of  Richmond,  gave 
a  wonderful  sermon  on  Our  Lord's  person  and  authority,  the 
very  Gospel.  I  was  spellbound.  After  sermon,  Dr.  Hoge 
spent  an  hour  with  us.  He  is  an  apostle  indeed.  My  heart 
goes  out  to  him. 

Ithaca,  13  May.  Worked  rather  wearily  on  the  records  for 
the  twelfth  amendment  lecture.  Shall  write  no  more  lectures 
after  this,  topic  is  treated  until  next  fall.  Long  to  resume  work 
on  my  book.  That  would  refresh  me.  Very  tired.  Paced 
the  veranda  all  the  evening,  chewing  the  cud  of  quietness  and 
content. 

Ithaca,  24  May.  With  unspeakable  pleasure  resumed  work 
on  my  History  of  American  literature,  which  I  have  been  forced 
to  neglect  since  about  this  time  in  March,  when  I  stopped  in 
the  midst  of  my  unfinished  chapter  on  John  Trumbull.  After 
so  long  a  pause  it  is  hard  to  restore  the  mental  connection. 

Ithaca,  28  May.  After  a  night  of  ill  sleep,  a  morning  of  ill 
work.  Pottered  and  muddled  over  Trumbull.  Instead  of  the 
freshness  and  glow  of  creative  vigor,  have  I  spent  the  last  two 
months  on  lecture  drudgery;  and  now,  when  I  can  get  some 
mornings  for  literary  work,  the  power  is  gone.  Still  I  must 
press  forward;  perhaps  it  will  come  back.  At  any  rate,  I  need 
refreshment  and  recuperation. 

Ithaca,  3  June.  Began  to  write  on  Trumbull  as  a  satirist, 
Progress  of  dullness,  a  progress  which  my  own  work  on  the  subject 
illustrated,  I  fear.  Am  in  danger  of  writing  a  book  about  Trum 
bull.  The  day  was  without  bracing  air,  and  I  plodded  in  a  grim 
sort  of  way. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  261 

Ithaca,  23  June.  Vacation  really  begins  to-day,  and  for 
the  next  three  months  I  can  lead  the  life  ideal  —  the  life  I  would 
lead  if  I  were  in  independent  circumstances. 

After  morning  devotions,  from  nine  to  one  wrote  and  studied 
for  my  History.  My  mind  was  fresh  and  alert;  and  I  wrote 
joyously.  Made  some  headway.  These  things  I  cannot  com 
mand,  but  I  hope  to  finish  Trumbull  by  the  last  day  of  this 
month.  It  has  dragged  so  long.  This  is  an  ideal  day  —  indus 
trious,  earnest,  composed,  independent,  helpful,  quiet,  cheerful, 
in  the  fear  and  love  of  God  and  in  love  of  all  men. 

Ithaca,  15  July.  Heavy  with  moisture,  hot,  dead  —  the  air 
to-day  has  lain  as  a  burden  upon  us  —  not  as  an  inspiration. ' 
I  have  struggled  against  it  in  vain  this  morning;  tried  to  make  a 
beginning  of  my  small  chapter  on  Humphreys.  I  forced  two 
or  three  sentences  upon  the  paper,  and  felt  that  they  were  lead, 
that  I  was  impotent  and  stupid.  Then,  at  about  eleven,  es 
caped  into  a  book,  and  read  till  lunch  with  much  delight  in 
H.  C.  Lodge's  new  book  on  Washington.  I  have  been  forth- 
putting  now  for  so  many  weeks  that  I  seem  to  be  hungry  for 
reading. 

Ithaca,  23  July.  Plodded  along  with  David  Humphreys, 
and  made  very,  very  slow  work.  Art  is  very  long.  Evening  — 
delightful  rest  and  meditation,  wandering  among  the  trees  on 
the  lawn,  and  sitting  on  the  veranda.  This  is  almost  an  ideal 
life,  one  of  the  most  rationally  happy  summers  I  ever  had  — 
recalling  somewhat  that  of  1869  —  in  the  dear  little  cottage, 
aetate  34. 

Ithaca,  24  July.  Another  morning  of  almost  imperceptible 
progress  on  David.  Afternoon  —  nap  as  usual;  an  hour  in 
the  library,  during  which  I  came  upon  some  new  material  con 
cerning  David  Humphreys  and  his  literary  crowd,  Trumbull, 


262  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

D wight,  and  Barlow,  and  decided  to  be  content  and  go  slow, 
and  to  let  my  treatment  of  David  Humphreys  take  its  own 
development,  and  become  larger  than  I  had  intended.  Shall 
drop  him  for  a  few  days  now,  and  prepare  my  article  on  The 
American  epic  of  Columbus,  an  adaptation  from  my  Barlow 
chapter.  A  letter  to-day  from  H.  E.  Scudder,  of  the  Atlantic. 
Shall  send  the  article  to  him. 

I  finished  this  week  the  reading  of  Luther's  Uebersetzung  des 
Neuen  Testaments,  and  began  to  read  it  again,  simultaneously 
with  the  Old  Testament.  I  am  profoundly  fascinated  by  this 
Hebrew  literature  in  Luther's  German  —  its  spirituality,  ethical 
grandeur,  and  purity;  its  benign  strength  for  body,  soul,  and 
spirit.  I  am  so  eager  to  be  reading  it  that  I  hurry  from  breakfast 
in  order  to  begin. 

Ithaca,  27  July.  Read  in  the  June  Forum  Lecky's  paper  on 
Formative  influences,  and  felt  deeply  depressed  from  considering 
the  disadvantages  of  my  own  life,  poverty,  burdens,  inability 
to  travel  and  buy  books,  and,  worse  than  all,  my  physical 
weakness  in  work,  and  my  infirmity  of  purpose  resulting  in  much 
shifting  of  direction  and  consequent  superficiality  and  fruitless- 
ness.  My  only  consolation  was  in  the  hope  that  all  my  failures 
in  intellectual  achievement  before  the  world  might  prove  a 
moral  and  spiritual  discipline  to  me  —  I  do  believe  in  the  Eternal, 
the  True,  the  Righteous  —  and  I  think  I  am  not  a  humbug, 
anyhow. 

^Ithaca,  2  August.  This  day  I  become  fifty-five  years  old. 
I  celebrated  it  by  doing  the  work  that  lay  before  me,  in  spite 
of  the  hot  weather.  Am  enlarging  my  canvass  for  the  sketch 
of  handsome,  big  David  Humphreys. 

Ithaca,  7  August.  A  note  from  Horace  E.  Scudder  sending 
back  my  paper  on  The  Columbiad.  He  does  not  like  the  subject. 
Have  been  deeply  depressed  all  the  day  and  all  the  evening. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  263 

Ithaca,  8  August.  Am  under  great  depression  still  as  to  my 
literary  work,  my  fitness  for  any  sort  of  intellectual  service  in 
the  world.  Am  dreadfully  conscious  of  the  great  mistakes  of 
my  life.  Felt  the  lack  of  balance  in  my  judgment,  my  liability 
to  self-delusion  through  the  colored  light  in  which  I  often  view 
things.  An  elderly  man,  with  the  cool,  mournful  sob  of  autumn 
sounding  about  him. 

Yet  I  tugged  on  again  through  most  of  the  forenoon. 

Ithaca,  16  August.  This  week  I  have  heard  of  three  memora 
ble  deaths  —  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Charles  L.  Bruce,  and  Cardi 
nal  Newman. 

Ithaca,  28  September.  With  great  reluctance  this  morning 
gave  my  sermon  Almost  persuaded.  I  felt  a  lack  of  spiritual 
preparation  to  deliver  such  a  message,  and  was  in  great  anguish. 
But  I  was  strengthened  to  utter  it,  and  there  was  every  sign  of 
solemn  attention  in  the  congregation.  Once  more  rolls  upon 
me  the  longing  to  be  a  preacher.  What  human  employment 
compares  with  it!  Oh,  that  I  had  persisted  in  it  even  unto 
death! 

Ithaca,  September  29.  My  spirit  is  deeply  moved  by  the  ex 
perience  of  yesterday  in  preaching;  and  I  brood  over  the  possi 
ble  duty  and  blessedness  of  letting  my  life  —  what  remains  — 
move  more  completely  into  the  religious  work  that  I  might  do, 
even  while  I  still  hold  this  chair.  Suppose  I  finish  the  History, 

and  then Ah,  what  could  be  so  great  a  means  of  peace  to 

my  spirit!  God's  will  be  done!  I  am  His  —  I  am  ready  to  do 
whatever  He  wills  to  do  with  me  and  through  me.  Let  Him 
direct.  I  will  not  hold  back. 

Ithaca,  3  October.  George  Bancroft's  ninetieth  birthday.  I 
spoke  to  my  students  about  it,  having  sent  to  him  a  telegram 
in  their  name  as  well  as  mine. 


264  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  20  October.  On  lecture  on  the  Defeated  party,  etc. 
Three  to  half-past  four,  a  class  exercise,  written  and  oral. 
The  first  of  the  kind.  Good  start.  Seven  to  quarter-past 
eight,  junior  seminary.  Afterward  went  to  druggist  for  some 
liver  pills.  I  need  them.  Am  in  the  dumps. 

Ithaca,  6  November.  Went  to  New  York  last  Saturday; 
read  a  paper  at  the  Historical  Society  on  Tuesday  evening, 
and  came  home  yesterday.  I  was  weary  beyond  description, 
and  this  experience  of  my  frailty  of  health  shatters  the  last  bit 
of  hope  I  have  lately  cherished  that  I  might  take  some  duty 
as  a  preacher.  Alas!  I  cannot.  This  weakness  seems  like  death. 
I  must  stay  at  home  and  do  my  work  here  —  such  as  it  is  — 
in  quietness. 

Ithaca,  24  November.  Prepared  lecture  on  the  Earliest  legis 
lation  for  the  public  domain.  Three  to  four  in  the  afternoon, 
gave  it.  Before  I  left  the  room  the  janitor  breught  me  a  big 
letter  from  C.  K.  Adams.  It  expresses  every  sort  of  kind  feeling 
for  me,  and  offers  to  name  me  for  promotion.  It  contains  in 
accuracies,  but  opens  the  way  at  least  for  better  working  rela 
tions  between  us.  What  I  lack  is  confidence!  But  I  cannot 
refuse  such  a  proffer  of  good  will.  Seven  to  half-past  eight,  semi 
nary.  Half-past  eight  to  ten,  meeting  of  the  full  professors  at 
Lincoln  hall.  Ten  to  half-past  ten,  committee  meets.  What 
a  day's  work  for  an  insomnolent  invalid  like  me! 

Ithaca,  26  November.  To-day  begins  a  week's  rest,  which  I 
greatly  need.  Since  term  began  I  have  written  out  in  full  about 
fifteen  lectures,  involving  much  research  and  planning,  and  my 
brain  is  very  weary  of  that  form  of  work.  I  crave  literary  re 
freshment,  and  an  entire  change  of  mental  employment. 

Ithaca,  28  November.  Began  yesterday  to  read  Froude's 
Ccesar  —  a  book  to  hold  me  in  chains  of  delight.  Finished  it  to- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  265 

day.  I  can  feel  the  sanitary  benefit  of  this  literary  feast  trick 
ling  through  all  the  cells  of  my  brain.  After  this  literary  festival, 
for  a  day  or  two  longer,  I  shall  resume  work  on  my  History. 

Ithaca,  2Q  November.  Had  a  wonderful  sleep  last  night  — 
ten  hours.  My  thoughts  running  upon  Caesar,  I  read  other 
estimates  of  him  —  by  Plutarch,  De  Quincey,  and  Seeley. 

In  evening  read  Newman 's  Apologia. 

Ithaca,  6  December.  Had  a  wonderful  sleep  last  night.  Broke 
my  record!  Ten  hours  solid.  Feel  like  a  giant.  Yet  my  in 
tellectual  work  has  not  been  gigantic. 

Ithaca,  8  December.  Wrote  on  Timothy  Dwight.  Very 
slow.  Pottering.  All  the  world  watches  the  row  in  the  Irish 
party  in  the  English  Parliament.  Parnell  discredited  by  private 
baseness,  yet  clings  to  the  leadership  with  satanic  audacity  and 
power;  then  follows  a  disruption  under  the  lead  of  Healy  and 
McCarthy,  but  without  great  ability  for  leadership.  Will  it 
be  the  time  for  Salisbury  to  dissolve  Parliament  and  have  a 
general  election?  His  opportunity? 

Ithaca,  12  December.  Was  awake  in  the  night  under  a  sudden 
vivid  impression  of  a  good  plan  for  a  tragedy  on  Bacon,  the 
Virginian  —  using  the  materials  dramatically  instead  of  in  a 
novel. 

Ithaca,  15  December.  A  letter  from  A.  C.  McClurg  &  Com 
pany,  of  Chicago,  inquiring  if  I  would  edit  a  reprint  of  Barlow's 
Columbiad  for  the  Centenary.  Replied  cautiously;  and  if 
they  do  the  right  thing,  shall  consent.  Can  use  my  Barlow 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

1891  — 1894 

Ithaca,  27  January,  1891.  Finished  my  final  revision  of 
chapter  on  President  D wight;  forty-seven  pages  typewritten. 
Intend  now  to  gather  up  the  crumbs;  perhaps  to  do  a  little  read 
ing  of  a  more  general  kind,  and  then  to  work  further  in  this  Con 
necticut  crowd  of  literary  fellows  —  President  Stiles,  and  the 
small  poets. 

Ithaca,  28  January,  1891.  More  odds  and  ends  relating  to 
D  wight;  and  put  him  in  the  safe.  An  hour's  work  on  lecture  for 
afternoon.  After  four,  down  town  for  exercise.  In  evening 
tired.  Read  a  little  in  Schurman's  Belief  in  God;  also  in  the 
English  version  of  Kostlin's  Luther.  To  bed  early. 

[At  this  point  the  diary  became  silent  for  the  space  of  a  year. 
Every  available  moment  was  spent  on  the  preparation  of  the 
two  large  octavo  volumes,  The  literary  history  of  the  American 
revolution,  which  made  its  appearance  in  the  spring  of  1897, 
when  a  great  load  became  lifted.] 

Ithaca,  September  26,  1892.  I  am  going  to  nail  myself  down 
now  and  henceforth  work  on  History  of  American  literature 
till  it  is  done.  Many  things  have  been  settled  in  my  mind  the 
last  year.  Concentrate.  Simplify.  Persevere.  Must  get  back 
to  the  method  in  the  old  Hillcroft  study.  From  nine  to  twelve 
on  Conway's  Life  of  Thomas  Paine,  revising  my  chapter  on  that 
man.  I  walked  about  afterward  for  fresh  air;  and  at  home 
wrote  letters  and  read  in  Keats. 

266 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  267 

LETTER  FROM  GROVER  CLEVELAND    TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Gray  Gables,  Buzzards  Bay,  Mass. 

4  Aug.,  1892 
MY  DEAR  SIR: 

I  hope  you  will  forgive  the  unavoidable  delay  in  acknowledg 
ing  the  receipt  of  your  extremely  kind  letter  of  congratulation. 
As  a  Democrat  I  regard  as  one  of  the  most  valuable  results  of 
party  action  the  adherents  whom  we  have  gained  among  think 
ing  and  educated  men,  and  I  should  be  much  afflicted  if  the 
party,  or  any  of  those  who  represent  it,  should  be  unfortunate 
enough  to  forfeit  the  confidence  of  these  supporters. 

These  are  indeed  times  which  our  friend  Apgar  would  have 
rejoiced  to  see;  and  I  frequently  think  of  him  and  of  the  assistance 
he  would  be  to  us,  mourning  anew  his  untimely  death.  Thank 
ing  you  for  your  kind  expressions  toward  me  personally,  I  am, 

Very  truly  yours, 

GROVER  CLEVELAND. 

Ithaca,  26  October,  1892.  Work  began  last  Thursday.  All 
my  classes  are  large.  Met  to-day  my  seminar  for  first  time. 
From  three  to  twenty  minutes  of  six,  classes.  Heavy.  So 
tired.  To  bed  very  early  —  my  sovereign  remedy. 

Ithaca,  26  October,  1892.  Our  Wedding  Day.  Thirty-three 
years  ago!  I  am  still  plodding  on  Thomas  Paine  amid  great 
interruptions. 

Ithaca,  73  November,  1892.  At  St.  John's.  Said  morning 
prayer  and  assisted  in  Holy  Communion.  Am  going  into  the 
chancel  this  year  less  than  usual  —  on  account  of  health.  Have 
overworked.  Since  last  record  Cleveland  has  been  elected. 

Have  been  hard  at  work  on  Volume  III.  Just  now  on  James 
Otis. 

Ithaca,  14  November,  1892.  Eight  to  twelve  nearly  finished 
notes  and  verifications  for  Chapter  II  on  Overture  of  political 


268  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

debate.  Thorough  work,  and  of  a  quality  of  which  I  was  incapa 
ble  when  I  wrote  the  first  two  volumes.  This  may  comfort 
me  for  the  delay.  Lectured,  rather  ill-prepared  and  preoccupied. 

Ithaca,  17  November,  1892.  All  the  forenoon  on  war  against 
chaos  among  books  and  papers;  an  inheritance  from  years  of 
neglect  enforced  by  too  much  work.  Getting  near  to  order  and 
serenity.  Work  done  by  the  class  to-day  was  dull,  and  in  places 
showed  signs  of  shirking.  Rather  disheartened.  Must  plan  a 
prompt  and  vigorous  remedy.  For  Volume  III  I  am  at  a  pause 
so  far  as  concerns  composition.  Before  I  go  on  with  the  next 
chapter,  relating  to  political  writings  —  1764-1766  —  must 
re-read  Tudor's  Otis,  Wells's  Samuel  Adams,  Rowland's  Mason, 
and  Henry's  Henry,  etc. 

Ithaca,  November  28,  1892.  On  Friday  last  went  to  Easton, 
Pennsylvania,  to  lecture  for  one  Lerch,  whom  I  found  to  be 
master  of  a  private  school.  Was  his  guest.  The  lecture  badly 
provided  for.  Small  audience.  The  next  morning  I  ran  over 
the  grounds  of  Lafayette  College  —  a  meagre,  obsolete  little  con 
cern.  Got  home  at  half-past  seven  Saturday  evening.  Was 
paid  $50  and  expenses  and  virtually  lost  two  good  working  days. 
Not  a  wise  use  of  life,  I  think.  Yesterday,  Sunday,  I  made  my 
usual  monthly  journey  to  Slaterville  and  held  service.  Perhaps 
a  waste  of  energy  also.  From  eight  to  one,  on  Wells's  Life  of 
Samuel  Adams,  etc.  For  some  time  to  come  I  must  be  reading 
on  the  political  and  constitutional  development  of  the  Revolu 
tion  with  a  view  to  precision  in  my  account  of  its  political  liter 
ature.  Evening,  copied  my  Chautauqua  address  for  publica 
tion. 

Ithaca,  i  December,  1892.  Eight  to  one.  Devotions  take  till 
nearly  nine.  Shall  not  again  mention  them;  it  hath  a  phari- 
saic  look.  Preparing  lecture  for  to-morrow  —  the  first  of  a  series 
of  new  lectures  on  the  Failure  of  the  confederation. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  269 

Ithaca,  3  December,  1892.  Had  to  pitch  in  hard  to  get  ready 
my  lecture  for  this  afternoon  —  and,  my  mind  not  being  at  ease 
on  the  matter,  could  not  get  my  nap  after  dinner.  Went  into 
the  lecture  room  with  some  anxiety,  but  the  lecture  turned  out 
to  be  a  fairly  good  one. 

Ithaca,  6  December,  1892.  Chiefly  on  lecture  for  to-morrow 
on  the  Failure  of  the  confederation.  Walked  till  six  with  Pro 
fessor  B the  most  chivalrous  soul  I  know  on  the  campus  — 

a  rare  embodiment  of  intelligence,  delicacy,  and  nobility. 

Ithaca,  7  December,  1892.  Still's  Life  of  John  Dickinson, 
till  eleven  —  a  thoughtful  and  very  suggestive  book,  not  without 
errors  of  fact  and  opinion:  impregnated  with  the  traditional 
Middle-state  dislike  and  envy  of  New  England;  after  that  on  my 
last  lecture  this  term.  Laus  Deo!  Shall  have  nearly  a  month 
now  for  work  on  my  book.  Much  of  this  I  shall  give  to  a  fresh 
study  of  the  lives  and  writings  of  the  men  who  shaped  the  po 
litical  and  constitutional  policies  of  the  revolutions  —  as  a  prep 
aration  for  my  chapters  on  our  political  literature,  state 
papers,  etc. 

Ithaca,  14  December,  1892.  Finished  the  three  volumes  of 
W.  W.  Henry's  Life  of  Patrick  Henry,  which  I  am  to  criticise  in 
the  Yale  review.  Also  began  Volume  I  of  Rowland's  George 
Mason,  which  impressed  me  as  a  gushing  and  sloppy  piece  of 
work. 

Ithaca,  December  21,  1892.  Not  a  good  working  day  for  me. 
After  making  a  hard  pull  on  my  article  about  Patrick  Henry, 
adjourned  to  the  fresh  air,  and  walked  out  to  the  cemetery  on 
the  North  road,  where  I  hope  to  buy  a  lot  soon  for  my  own  burial 
when  needed.  In  afternoon  odds  and  ends.  Read  in  Jfcf  Quin- 
c^y's  Figures  of  the  past —  a  joyful  book.  In  the  world  outside, 


270  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Elaine  lies  sick  unto  death.  Great  commotion  in  Paris  over  the 
Panama  scandals;  discredit  of  the  government;  fresh  plots  of  a 
royalist  revolution.  In  Germany  uncertainty,  discord,  threats, 
prophecies  of  trouble.  Cleveland  arranging  for  his  second 
administration  with  great  authority  and  self-command. 

Ithaca,  23  December,  1892.  In  my  workshop,  as  usual.  Chiefly 
on  my  article  on  W.  W.  Henry's  book.  I  am  quite  out  of  prac 
tice  in  literary  composition;  and  in  taking  it  up  once  more  find 
myself  moving  from  sentence  to  sentence  very  slowly.  But 
speed  is  nothing;  and  nothing  shall  be  sacrificed  to  it.  In  evening 
finished  volume  III  of  Samuel  Adams  —  a  bit  of  unfinished  duty. 

Ithaca,  17  March,  1893.  Since  last  record  have  done  no  stroke  of 
work  on  the  book;  but  have  prepared  new  lectures  for  class  at 
the  rate  of  two  a  week;  have  written  out  two  platform  lectures; 
have  lectured  at  Dobbs  Ferry,  Poughkeepsie,  and  Buffalo;  and 
have  kept  up  my  monthly  service  at  Slaterville.  My  lectures 
for  next  term  are  pretty  well  provided  for;  and  I  begin  to-day 
to  work  on  my  book  —  and  hope  to  keep  at  it  every  morning 
through  March,  April,  May,  June,  and  July  —  four  months  and 
a  half.  That  ought  to  advance  matters.  I  feared  that  I  could 
not  come  back  and  drop  into  the  old  currents  of  thought  without 
much  delay  and  difficulty;  but  I  have  had  a  forenoon  of  animated 
and  fruitful  work,  beginning  just  where  I  left  off.  Chapter  II 
closes  with  Otis's  pamphlet  of  1764,  July.  Chapter  III,  which  I 
call  The  first  clash  of  American  whig  and  American  tory  —  goes 
on  to  give  an  account  of  all  the  Whig  writers  of  that  year  till 
it  reaches  the  Halifax  Gentleman  —  the  first  Tory  writer  —  and 
the  discussion  which  he  stirred  up.  This  morning's  work 
carried  me  well  on  into  my  treatment  of  Oxenbridge  Thacher. 
Laus  Deo!  In  afternoon  wrote  letters  —  a  department  dread 
fully  neglected.  Then  walked  an  hour,  and  in  evening  rested 
with  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Diary. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  271 

LETTER  FROM  EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN    TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  York,  ip  March,  1893 
DEAR  DR.  TYLER: 

I  am  indebted  to  you  for  the  pamphlet  copy  of  your  review 
of  Mr.  Wirt  Henry's  big  life  of  his  renowned  ancestor.  But  I 
had  read  it  already,  with  unusual  care,  when  it  appeared  in 
the  Yale  review.  It  was  to  me  a  kind  of  oasis  in  the  economic 
desert!  Yale  is  better,  no  doubt,  in  economics  than  in  literature, 
but  I  can  survive  without  Adam  Smith  or  Bagehot.  It  ap 
peared  to  me  that  your  courteous  suggestion  of  the  defects  in  Mr. 
Henry's  work  was  very  considerate  and  that  your  final  words  of 
recognition,  under  all  the  conditions,  were  most  generous. 

And  by  the  latter  adjective  I  mean  that  in  your  case  they  were 
most  characteristic.  You  couldn't  be  otherwise  than  knightly, 
my  dear  Tyler,  if  you  tried  and  tried. 

Ever  sincerely  yours, 

EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN. 

Ithaca,  25  March,  1893.  For  the  past  two  days,  'being  brain 
weary,  have  been  away  from  this  desk  —  knocking  about  in 
the  open  air.  Before  that  interval  had  made  good  progress  in 
writing. 

Ithaca,  26  March,  1893.  Palm  Sunday.  Took  the  service, 
with  sermon,  at  Slaterville,  this  morning.  But  it  fatigues  me 
more  than  I  can  bear.  My  days  of  preaching  are  nearly  over. 
Shall  go  to  Slaterville  but  twice  more  this  spring;  and  shall 
seldom  go  into  the  chancel  again.  A  great  sorrow  to  me.  But 
my  bodily  strength  is  not  enough  for  two  professions,  and  my 
profession  in  this  university  is  the  one  to  which  Providence 
seems  to  appoint  me. 

9  _ 

Ithaca,  27  March,  1893.  All  the  morning  steadily  at  work 
on  Chapter  XIX.  Revising  old  matter  —  produced  in  a  different 
and  earlier  stage  of  my  acquaintance  with  the  subject,  and  in 
a  different  tone  from  what  I  now  have.  Proves  hard  —  harder 


272  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

than  to  do  it  all  anew.  Slow.  Almost  no  positive  result  of  the 
whole  morning's  work.  Am  conscious  of  very  small  reserve  force; 
life  is  tending  into  old  age.  It  is  afternoon.  How  I  envy  those 
to  whom  the  sunset  has  peacefully  come,  and  justly,  for  they 
are  nearer  the  sunrise. 

Ithaca,  28  March,  1893.  Made  another  fight  to  get  farther 
along  with  Chapter  XIX  and  gave  it  up.  The  thing  is  the  last 
to  be  done  in  the  volume.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  I  must 
wait  till  all  details  are  before  me  before  I  can  report  the  results 
of  a  survey  of  them.  So  I  stoop  to  conquer.  After  two  hours 
or  more  of  baffled  effort  I  lay  aside  what  I  have  done  on  XIX, 
deliver  over  to  Jeannette  XX  for  copy,  and  resume  work  on  XXI. 

Ithaca,  31  March,  1893.  Good  Friday.  After  private  devo 
tions  for  the  day,  my  work  was  kept  up  through  the  forenoon 
—  but  with  results  negative  rather  than  positive.  Cleared  away 
difficulties  in  dealing  with  latter  part  of  1764. 

Ithaca,  10  April,  1893.  Last  Friday  went  to  Wi&esbarre 
to  lecture  on  Francis  Hopkinson  before  Daughters  of  the  Revo 
lution.  Mrs. the  boss  —  and  such  a  boss!  A  comedy  of 

preposterous  energy  and  misdirected  enthusiasm.  Many  pleas 
ant  people.  On  Saturday  morning  a  droll  time  going  with  the 
she-boss  to  the  Monument  and  catching  the  train  at  Wyoming. 

Ithaca,  14  April,  1893.  Had  a  thundering  good  sleep  last 
night,  and  in  consequence  a  thundering  good  morning's  work. 
Reached  the  end  of  the  debate  between  Otis  and  Halifax 
Gentleman  in  Chapter  XXI. 

Ithaca,  25  April,  1893.  Modifying,  verifying.  Have  just 
bought  for  my  own  joy  Birkbeck  Hill's  Boswell  —  a  book  to 
live  with  and  love  the  rest  of  my  life.  It  has  much  to  do  with  my 
period  of  work  and  my  theme  —  the  English  side  of  American 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  273 

revolution.  Saw  to-day  Catalogue  of  library  of  the  late  George 
H.  Moore,  LL.D.  —  the  first  information  I  have  received  of  the 
a  man  with  whom  I  have  had  much  to  do. 

Ithaca,  4  May,  1893.  I  like  Sir  Walter  Scott's  phrase  for  this 
desk  work — "I  wrought."  So,  to-day,  I  wrought  on  Daniel 
Dulany's  great  pamphlet  —  trying  to  lay  out  its  line  of  argu 
ment  clearly. 

Ithaca,  31  May,  1893.  Last  Sunday  I  preached  at  Slaterville 
for  the  last  time  this  season,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  time  in  my 
life.  My  strength  is  unequal  to  the  tasks  that  have  been  laid 
upon  me;  and  is  growing  less  each  year.  This  labor  on  Sunday 
left  me  unutterably  tired  and  has  been  the  case  generally  during 
the  year  past.  Sadly,  nay,  sorrowfully,  I  turn  back  from  the 
great  joy  of  doing  the  work  of  a  preacher  of  Christ's  Gospel. 
More  and  more  must  I  reduce  the  strain  put  upon  my  strength 
and  draw  in  from  distracting  efforts  and  keep  to  the  things  given 
me  to  do  —  that  of  a  writer,  that  of  a  teacher. 

Ithaca,  19  June,  1893.  In  the  beauty  and  peace  of  the  long 
summer  vacation  here  at  home.  For  the  next  six  weeks  I  hope 
to  live  an  ideal  life,  my  time  at  my  own  disposal  —  a  free  man,  a 
scholar,  a  writer.  God  prosper  me  with  health,  exemption  from 
pain  of  body  or  mind,  and  good  cheer  in  my  work  —  which  I 
greatly  long  to  finish. 

Ithaca,  29  June,  1893.  "Wrought"  as  usual  till  one,  with 
much  energy  and  glow  of  mind,  and  yet  without  much  visible 
progress.  Was  a  long  time  in  a  turmoil  of  dissatisfaction  with 
some  sentences  which  I  could  not  shape  to  suit  me. 

Ithaca,  i  July,  1893.  So  one-half  of  this  year  has  rolled  away. 
Hope  that  the  second  half  of  it  may  have  in  store  for  me  health, 
spirit,  and  opportunity  for  effective  work  on  my  book. 


274  MOSES  TYLER  COIT 

Ithaca,  6  July,  1893.  My  home-stretch  with  Hopkinson  is 
to-day  proving  to  be  a  far-stretch.  As  I  shaped  my  plan  for  a 
rather  summary  ending,  I  find  my  prophetic  soul  refusing  its 
consent.  I  can  never  do  any  literary  work,  unless  an  inward 
arbiter  smiles  approval.  So  I  flung  overboard  once  more  every 
calculation  founded  on  the  almanac,  and  plod  patiently  and 
slowly  along  the  path  which  I  must  take.  A  solid  forenoon  in 
which  I  struck  out  into  lines  not  thought  of  yesterday. 


Ithaca,  July  14,  1893.  I  stop  to  enter  here  the  fact  that  I 
have  just  finished  my  long  chapter  on  Francis  Hopkinson;  nearly 
ninety  pages  of  type-written  copy.  Thus  I  have  been  about  two 
weeks  longer  with  it  than  I  had  expected.  But  I  have  not  wasted 
my  time;  and  the  subject  has  asserted  its  right  to  attention. 
It  presents  a  pretty  complete  view  of  Hopkinson's  literary  ser 
vices  to  the  Revolution,  and  shows  their  importance  in  a  light 
stronger  than  ever  before  indicated,  I  think. 

Ithaca,  21  September,  1893.  Yesterday  morning  we  returned 
home  from  our  summer's  outing. 

Was  never  more  deeply  contented  to  come  back  here  for  home. 
Life  for  me  is  clearer,  better  defined,  more  unified.  God  grant 
that  this  may  be  a  year  of  health,  domestic  happiness,  and  use 
ful  work.  I  hope  that  my  materials  for  class  work  are  in  such  a 
state  as  to  enable  me  to  give  the  rest  of  this  university  year 
pretty  solidly  to  this  long  delayed  task.  My  motto  must  now 
be  —  stick  to  it  —  write  —  finish  !  Fight  off  all  thieves  of  the 
morning  time.  The  completion  of  this  book  will  be  to  me  the 
release  from  a  long  imprisonment.  I  long  to  be  doing  something 
else.  May  God  prosper  me  in  this  work  —  give  me  strength, 
hope,  determination,  steadiness. 

Ithaca,  30  October,  1893.  Yesterday  heard  at  chapel  Philip 
Moxon.  A  wonderful  discourse  on  Immortality.  Moxon  is 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  275 

as  delightful  in  personal  intercourse  as  he  is  in  the  pulpit  —  a 
wise,  tender,  modest,  eloquent  fellow,  full  of  thought  and  of 
surprising  range  of  reading.  In  my  solitude  in  the  evening  read 
nearly  two  cantos  of  the  Faery  Queen.  I  am  reading  over  again 
my  old  loves  —  the  English  poets  —  for  whose  words  I  am  very 
hungry. 

Ithaca,  28  November,  1893.  At  dinner  to  meet  the  Russian 
Prince  Walkowsky.  Afterward  heard  the  Prince's  lecture  at 
Barnes  Hall  to  a  great  crowd  —  on  My  impressions  of  America. 
He  has  much  wit  and  tact;  and  is  a  thoroughbred  in  look  and 
manner.  One  could  easily  believe  him  to  be  a  prince  —  before 
it  is  mentioned.  Still  this  particular  lecture  had  a  quality  not 
wholly  to  my  liking  —  an  assumption  that  the  American  people 
were  a  crude,  callow,  ill-mannered  set  of  novitiates  in  civiliza 
tion  whom  he  or  any  other  foreigner  was  at  liberty  to  talk  to 
about  their  personal  peculiarities. 

Ithaca,  29  November,  1893.  The  morning  work  went  through 
by  force  of  will,  rather  than  with  power  and  joy.  After  late 
hours  last  night  comes  a  day  of  weary-headedness  —  no  vivacity 
or  creativeness.  I  plodded  through  the  forenoon  —  trying  to 
get  forward  in  my  task.  Had  a  hard  subject,  too,  Dr.  Benjamin 
Church,  the  rhyming,  moody,  effusive,  double-faced  scoundrel. 

Ithaca,  5  December,  1893.  Wrote  out  and  rewrote  my  sec 
tion  on  Nathaniel  Evans,  the  Philadelphia  poet.  Began  with  a 
heavy  spirit,  a  discouraged  brain  —  and  by  sheer  will,  and  with 
a  dull  despair  of  ever  doing  anything  again  that  was  bright  and 
readable  —  I  pushed  on  hour  by  hour;  and  finally  got  into  a 
higher  and  brighter  air  —  and  triumphed  with  a  quiet  joy.  I  am 
satisfied  that  this  is  the  way  for  me  to  do  —  go  to  the  writing 
table  and  keep  at  it  every  morning  until  I  succeed  or  give  out 
from  nerve-weariness. 


276  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  14  December,  1893.  At  the  end  of  my  rope.  Played- 
out  head-piece,  good  for  nothing  —  nerves  on  a  strike  —  stomach 
rebellious.  Couldn't  even  write  a  letter.  So  my  usual  remedy, 
loafing  in  the  fresh  air. 

Philadelphia,  18  December,  1893.  Left  Ithaca  this  morning 
by  D.,  L.  &  W.  Arrived  here  at  about  six. 

Philadelphia,  20  December,  1893.  At  half  past  six,  McMaster 
called  and  escorted  me  to  the  club,  where  I  met  a  number  of  men. 
Good  company.  The  charm  of  such  regular  feeding  reunions  by 
a  lot  of  male  duffers  who  have  homes  of  their  own  eludes  me.  I 
am  greatly  attracted  by  McMaster.  He  is  refined,  modest, 
courteous,  genuine,  with  an  air  of  abstractedness  and  of  scholas 
tic  unworldliness.  He  makes  no  flourishes,  but  is  very  kind. 

Philadelphia,  21  December,  1893.  From  nine  to  half-past 
one,  at  the  Ridgway.  Then  to  the  University  of  Pennsylvania, 
where  I  was  met  by  McMaster.  Was  present  at  one  of  Thorpe's 
classes.  Looked  through  the  concern.  Much  pleased  with 
their  work  in  American  history. 

Ithaca,  31  December,  1893.  Alone  in  the  evening,  read  two  can 
tos  of  the  Faery  Queen,  a  few  poems  of  William  Watson,  etc. 
Thus  endeth  this  record  of  three  active  years,  of  a  fruitfulness  not 
yet  visible.  More  sadness  than  joy  in  it  all,  perhaps.  But  a 
Higher  Hand  is  leading  us,  I  believe,  and  all  will  be  well  — 
especially  after  this  body  takes  possession  of  its  quiet  and  cosey 
little  home  up  on  the  Lansing  road. 

Ithaca,  ij  January,  1894.  The  morning's  work  was  on  Brack- 
enridge,  his  dramatic  poems;  but  with  a  heavy  heart  and  an  un 
willing  brain.  What  is  the  matter  with  me?  Is  it  mere  fatigue? 
Or  is  my  brain  perishing  atom  by  atom?  Is  this  cerebral  dete- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  277 

rioration?  O  God!  pity.  I  do  want  to  get  this  book  written, 
and  worthily.  Of  course,  I  have  little  to  show  for  this  morning. 

Ithaca,  18  January,  1894.  Made  some  little  headway  in 
treating  of  Brackenridge's  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  but  I  have  no 
vim  —  no  zest,  inspiration;  am  dull,  stupid.  Had  to  knock 

off  work  at  twelve  on  account  of  weariness  of  nerve  and  brain. 

\ 

Ithaca,  20  January,  1894.  Finished  Bunker  Hill,  and  then 
reread  carefully  Brackenridge's  Death  of  Montgomery.  In  the 
evening  read  hi  Lytton's  Last  of  the  barons,  and  Henry  James's 
essays  on  London  and  on  Lowell.  I  have  no  use  for  Henry  James. 

Ithaca,  16  September,  1894.  I  have  had  great  rest  and  am  in 
the  best  physical  condition.  Shall  try  to  get  a  whack  at  my 
awfully  delayed  book  every  morning  (Sundays  excepted)  from 
now  on  until  it  is  done.  God  help  me  to  do  this!  Oh,  that  I 
had  control  of  my  time  the  rest  of  my  life! 

*  Ithaca,  17  September,  1894.  Had  to  get  into  the  swim  of  this 
work  of  literary  composition.  Going  over  my  finished  chapters 
in  order  to  recall  their  contents  and  to  judge  of  their  quality. 
Have  been  much  depressed  of  late  as  to  the  latter  point.  This 
reading  gives  me  renewed  confidence.  If  I  can  finish  the  book 
in  that  fashion,  shall  not  need  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  Find  it  hard 
to  get  into  the  current  of  writing  after  so  long  a  break.  Is  not 
daily  practice  in  writing  of  some  such  value  as  daily  practice  in 
tennis,  or  piano  playing,  or  other  arts? 

Ithaca,  26  September,  1894.  David  B.  Hill  was  nominated 
for  governor  to-day  by  the  Democrats  upon  a  ticket  of  better 
men.  A  shrewd  piece  of  politics.  Now  for  a  tremendous  fight. 
As  a  Democrat,  I  wish  D.  B.  H.  may  be  defeated  and  buried  low 
down,  never  to  rise  again. 


278  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  30  September,  1894.  Preached  at  St.  John's  this 
morning,  the  first  time  since  Easter  a  year  ago,  and  probably 
the  last  time  for  many  a  month  and  year.  Indeed  I  am  not 
strong  enough  for  it;  a  deadly  weariness  comes  upon  me  as  a 
reaction  from  the  excitement.  Besides,  unless  I  preach  all  the 
time  I  get  out  of  the  true  way  of  it,  and  the  act  becomes  ama 
teurish  and  distressing. 

Ithaca,  16  October,  1894.  Last  night,  being  wakeful  for  many 
hours,  there  came  to  me  a  flash  of  an  idea:  to  precede  the  pub 
lication  of  my  big  Revolutionary  volume  by  a  pretty  little  book 
containing  three  elaborately  finished  chapters  which  will  not  go 
into  it  —  viz.,  Berkeley,  Joel  Barlow,  and  Timothy  Dwight; 
and  perhaps  call  it  Three  dissimilar  men.  This  has  thrown  me 
out  of  the  track  of  work  for  to-day.  The  two  girls  at  breakfast 
hailed  the  project  with  their  applause;  and  I  at  once  wrote  to 
Putnam  to  name  it  to  him,  and  to  Houghton  for  permission  to 
reproduce  the  Berkeley  chapter. 

Ithaca,  22  October,  1894.  Each  week-day  busy  on  revision  of 
three  monographs.  To-day  finished  that  of  Barlow.  My  sec 
ond  sober  thought  is  one  of  doubt  whether  or  not  it  will  be  best 
for  me  now  to  publish  this  little  book;  perhaps  it  is  too  slight  a 
thing  after  so  long  a  silence.  Why  not  get  it  quite  ready  for 
the  printer  and  then  put  it  into  the  safe  and  wait.  Putnam 
writes  that  they  will  desire  to  publish  everything  I  care  to. 

Ithaca,  October  27,  1894.  Have  been  ill  much  of  the  time 
in  bed  with  a  cold;  but  secured  three  or  four  hours  each  morning 
for  work,  and  finished  to-day  my  revision  of  the  little  book,  Three 
men  of  letters,  and  sent  it  off  to  Putnam. 

Ithaca,  13  December,  1894.  This  interval  has  been  filled  with 
very  hard  work  in  college  and  upon  the  preparation  and  proof- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  279 

reading  of  the  little  book  which  I  so  suddenly  thought  of  pub 
lishing.  Writing  on  the  big  book  has  had  to  wait  —  though 
it  has  had  casual  and  intermittent  opportunities. 

Ithaca,  31  December,  1894.  I  sent  back  to  Putnam  page  proofs 
for  Three  men  of  letters,  and  yesterday  the  samples  for  covers.  I 
should  think  the  book  would  be  out  by  January  15.  By  one 
year  from  to-night  —  if  I  am  alive  —  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to 
record  my  joy  over  the  actual  publication  of  The  literary  history 
of  the  American  revolution.  For  the  next  three  months  I  shall 
be  exterminating  the  mob  of  minor  writers  in  my  list  —  leaving 
a  very  few  big  ones  for  slow  and  elaborate  treatment  —  notably 
Franklin  and  Freneau.  Can  I  finish  and  be  ready  to  send  the 
book  to  press  by  July  31?  Wouldn't  that  be  fine?  But  alas — 
these  interruptions  of  college  work! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

1895—1897 

Ithaca,  i  January,  1895.  It  is  f our  degrees  below  zero.  Heavy 
snow  covers  the  earth.  The  sky  steel  blue;  the  sun  beaming 
down  in  glory,  the  air  full  of  sting  and  life.  I  enter  upon  the 
year  in  good  health  and  with  a  heart  to  finish  and  dismiss  the 
great  task  of  The  literary  history  of  the  American  revolution.  I 
resolve  with  the  help  of  heaven  to  have  it  off  my  hands  and  in 
the  hands  of  those  who  care  for  it  by  the  closing  day  of  this 
year.  My  stint  for  this  month  is  nineteen  names  —  to  reduce 
from  fifty-nine  to  thirty.  Doubtful.  I  now  begin  on  old  Isaac 
Backus,  the  Baptist  historiographer. 

LETTER  FROM  OSCAR  STRAUS  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  York,  February  3,  1895 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

This  is  Sunday  night,  which  I  have  devoted  with  intense 
interest  and  profit  to  the  careful  reading  of  your  Three  men 
of  letters.  Like  everything  which  comes  from  your  graceful 
and  polished  pen,  these  studies  are  fascinatingly  instructive. 
For  some  time  I  have  observed,  through  book  notices,  you  have 
in  preparation  The  literary  history  of  the  American  revolution. 
I  am  sure  this  will  be  a  valuable  book  and  look  forward  with 
much  interest  to  its  appearance. 

Amid  the  wear  and  tear  of  my  active  life  in  this  ever-agitated 
city,  where  much  is  done  but  little  is  finished,  I  often  revert 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  envy  to  the  peaceful  life  you  and  your 
colleagues  lead  on  University  Hill.  I  sometimes  think  under 
proper  conditions  I  might  accomplish  something  worth  doing; 
but  then  again  I  console  myself  with  the  thought,  which  you 
have  so  well  expressed,  that,  after  all,  this  is  an  illusion — "the 

280 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  281 

tendency  to  mistake  the  whispers  of  ambition  for  the  invitations 
of  genius. "  .     .     . 

With  best  regards  to  Mrs.  Tyler  as  well  as  yourself, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

OSCAR  S.  STRAUS. 


LETTER  FROM  ANDREW  D.  WHITE  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Florence,  Italy,  February  19,  1895 

MY  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND: 

Your  book  reached  me  night  before  last.  After  dinner  I  took 
it  up  and  never  laid  it  down  until  I  had  read  it  from  cover  to 
cover.  It  is  delightful,  and  I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  or 
dering  it  sent  me. 

After  a  not  unusual  fashion  with  me,  I  began  with  the  last 
of  the  three  essays,  for  my  interest  in  French  revolutionary 
matters  led  me  to  wish  to  know  something  more  of  Barlow.  Your 
account  of  him  quite  carried  me  away.  It  seems  both  kindly,  ap 
preciative,  and  strictly  just.  The  only  trouble  was  that  like 
Oliver  I  wanted  more,  and  was  very  sorry  that  you  could  not  have 
found  some  excuse  for  giving  an  account  of  his  famous  journey 
into  Poland  to  meet  Napoleon  and  of  his  death  there. 

Next  I  took  up  President  Dwight  and  was,  if  possible,  more 
interested.  I  never  realized  before  the  secret  of  the  man's 
influence.  I  am  waiting  to  study  portraits  of  historical  per 
sonages  carefully,  and  I  have  looked  very  intently  at  his.  It 
always  pleased  me,  but  seemed  rather  that  of  a  good  portly  Pres 
byterian  minister  of  the  old  Dr.  Jerry  Atwater  style  than  any 
thing  else.  But  I  can  now  read  into  the  lineaments  of  it  that 
which  makes  it  infinitely  more  expressive  to  me;  a  grand  old 
fellow  he  was,  who  deserved  well  of  his  country,  and  you  deserve, 
well  of  the  country  for  making  us  know  it. 

Last  of  all,  I  read  the  first,  on  Berkeley,  and  that  proved 
the  cream  of  the  whole.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  never  read  a 
more  charming  and  enticing  beginning  of  an  essay  than  that 
which  opens  yours.  I  rose  from  it  some  time  after  midnight  with 
one  of  my  old  enthusiasms  upon  me,  determined  to  write  you 
within  twelve  hours  to  propose  a  statue  of  Berkeley  at  Yale,  and 


282  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  am  still  in  favor  of  it,  as  also  a  statue  of  Dwight,  and  will 
gladly  contribute  my  full  share  to  them,  say  one  hundred  dollars 
apiece,  though  I  can  ill  afford  it.  Think  of  those  two  worthies 
sitting  in  bronze  on  those  pedestals  in  front  of  Osborn  Hall,  with 
Woolsey  on  one  side  and  some  other  worthy  on  the  other.  There 
are  four  pedestals  there,  and  four  sitting  statues  would  produce 
a  splendid  effect. 

One  has  already  been  modelled  —  that  of  Woolsey — and  I 
wish  the  other  might  be.  Some  day  we  must  have  some  sort  of 
memorial  of  Berkeley  at  Cornell;  the  raison  d'etre  of  it  would  of 
course  be  that  he  was  one  of  the  founders  of  university  educa 
tion  in  the  United  States. 

I  hope  that  you  are  to  do  more  of  this  delightful  kind  of  work, 
of  which  you  have  given  such  an  admirable  specimen.  I  used 
to  say  that  your  speech  at  laying  the  corner-stone  of  Sage  Col 
lege  was  one  of  the  most  perfect  pieces  of  extemporaneous  ora 
tory  of  the  academic  sort  that  I  ever  heard,  and  I  really  feel 
that  even  though  I  have  read  Matthew  Arnold's  Essay  on  Berke 
ley,  yours  is  the  masterpiece. 

With  all  kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Tyler,  your  daughter,  and  your 
self,  in  which  all  here  cordially  join,  I  remain,  my  dear  old  friend, 
gratefully  and  faithfully  yours, 

ANDREW  D.  WHITE. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Block  Island,  Rhode  Island, 

August  2,  1895 

Well,  dearest  old  lady,  here  is  your  old  gentleman  gaily  sail 
ing  into  his  sixtieth  birthday.  I  admit  that  is  not  exactly  a 
jubilant  thought,  yet  my  physical  sensations  on  this  event  are 
not  different  from  usual.  Evidently,  there's  no  use  in  whim 
pering  over  it.  So  here  is  to  a  serene  and  industrious  Old  Age, 
and  not  too  much  of  it.  (Drink  standing  and  in  silence.) 

I  shall  enclose  a  letter  from  a  New  York  publisher  making 
a  proposition  virtually  to  sell  my  name  for  a  history  I  did  not 
write.  There  is  money  in  it  —  but  not  honor  —  and  I  have 
declined. 


MISS    JEANNETTE    H.  GILBERT 
NEW   HAVEN  —  1857 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  283 

I  have  a  letter  from  the  American  Book  Company  asking  me  to 
write  a  text  book  history  of  the  United  States  as  soon  as  I  finish 
my  present  task.  I  am  considering  it. 

I  am  in  the  drowsy  mood  which  always  attacks  me  at  sea  and 
at  the  seaside,  so  you  must  not  expect  much  exertion  of  intellect 
on  my  part.  I  have  been  in  swimming  twice  and  am  rambling 
about  in  a  leisurely  way.  .  .  . 

Thine,  M.  C.  T. 

Block  Island,  August  6,  1895 

.  .  .  This  is  so  quiet  and  lazy  a  life  that  I  shall  not  have 
much  material  for  letters,  or  much  cerebral  energy  for  using  it; 
and  I  think  I  shall  not  inflict  my  marine  fogs  and  stupors  upon 
you  of  tener  than  on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays  —  on  which  days  I 
shall  post  my  letters  to  you.  ...  I  am  daily  troubled  to 
think  that  my  strength  gave  out  as  it  did,  and  that  I  had  to 
leave  you  alone  this  month  under  the  peculiar  circumstances 
you  are  in.  I  fear  the  loneliness  and  monotony  of  your  life 
—  and  the  ceaseless  strain  upon  your  nerves  —  will  be  too  much 
for  you.  .  .  .  The  swim  yesterday  was  fine;  the  water, 
the  surf,  and  the  sandy  beach  all  delightful.  .  .  . 

THY  OLD  BOY. 


Block  Island,  August  15, 
.  .  .  I  must  ask  you  to  be  careful  to  see  that  your 
letters  to  me  are  not  held  back  in  the  Ithaca  post-office  for  lack 
of  attention  on  your  part  to  the  proper  amount  of  postage  re 
quired.  Here  I  am  utterly  cut  off  from  news  from  you  for  about 
a  week;  yes  a  full  week;  and  now  comes  a  card  from  the  post- 
office  at  Ithaca  asking  me  to  forward  a  two-cent  stamp  to  enable 
them  to  send  me  a  letter  (evidently  from  you,  I  see,  because  it 
is  addressed  to  my  box  here),  which  without  such  stamp  would  be 
sent  to  the  Dead  Letter  office  in  two  weeks.  That  is  vexatious 
to  a  man  anxious  for  news  from  home  and  deprived  of  it  for  such 
a  reason.  I  suppose  I  shall  not  get  this  letter  before  Saturday 
or  Monday  next.  (The  scales  are  on  the  mantel  in  rhy  study.) 
In  spite  of  all  these  adversities  I  am  finding  my  stay  here  profit- 


284  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

able  to  my  bodily  health  —  though  it  would  be  more  so  if  my 
occasions  for  anxiety  were  fewer.  But  I  shall  be  fully  ready  to 
leave  next  Tuesday,  the  2oth. 

I  hope  this  letter  will  find  you  still  able  to  bear  your  present 
burdens  as  cheerfully  as  you  have  hitherto  done.  May  heaven 
protect  us  all  and  help  us  to  a  little  more  sunshine  than  we  have 
just  now. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Block  Island  is  rather  deteriorating  in 
the  quality  of  its  summer  patrons.  The  ocean  view  has  a  much 
less  elegant  or  opulent  class  of  guests  —  at  least  judging  from 
appearances;  and  the  look  of  the  people  at  the  bathing  beach 
is  that  of  a  rather  uncultivated  and  vulgar  type.  I  don't  think 
it  makes  any  difference  to  me.  I  came  here  for  the  air  and  water 
and  rest  which  the  Island  affords  —  not  for  social  life,  and  what 
I  came  for  I  can  get  and  am  getting  —  no  matter  what  sort  of 
people  there  may  be  here.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  they  are 
loud  or  obstreperous,  especially,  but  they  have  a  cheap,  crude 
look.  I  am  satisfied  that  I  was  right  in  following  my  instincts, 
which  crave  Block  Island  this  year  —  especially  its  bathing. 
After  all  my  experiments  elsewhere  I  am  confirmed  in  my 
opinion  by  renewed  acquaintance  with  this  bathing  beach  that  it 
is  upon  the  whole  the  very  best  one  on  this  coast.  I  like  it  better 
even  than  that  of  Newport  or  Narragansett  Pier,  which  are 
specially  renowned. 

I  am  having  some  correspondence  with  the  American  Book 
Company  in  regard  to  the  writing  of  a  text-book  on  American 
history  as  soon  as  I  get  the  big  book  off  my  hands.  Of  course, 
compared  with  such  work  as  I  have  been  doing,  it  will  be 
mere  play,  and  I  may  hope  to  derive  some  snug  income  from  it. 
Still  it  is  not  settled  yet.  I  shall  not  take  hold  of  it  unless  I 
am  satisfied  it  will  be  so  handled  by  the  company  as  to  pay 
handsomely.  ...  M. 

P.  S.  I  expect  I  shall  write  a  good  many  books  yet  if  I  live  to 
be  seventy  —  but  they  will  not  be  such  tough  ones  as  this  I  am 
now  trying  to  get  rid  of.  Nor  shall  I  ever  again  be  so  oppressed 
by  a  literary  burden.  What  I  have  in  view  will  furnish  congenial 
literary  occupation  —  not  servitude  and  drudgery. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  285 

LETTER  FROM  WILLIAM  C.  WILKINSON  TO  MOSES  TYLER 

Chicago,  November  20,  1895 
DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  have  read  or  heard  read  (which  for  me  is  often  better)  from 
beginning  to  end  your  Three  men  of  letters.  I  have  been  charmed 
with  it  throughout.  The  subjects  are  in  themselves  highly  inter 
esting,  though  possibly,  except  in  the  case  of  Bishop  Berkeley, 
I  might  not  have  suspected  this  but  for  your  treatment  of  them, 
which,  like  a  genial  incubation,  has  wonderfully  brought  out  the 
latent  and  political  life  that  lurked  in  the  theme.  Your  humor 
delights  me;  I  am  almost,  perhaps  quite,  reconciled  to  the  irrev 
erent  freedom  of  it  when  you  call  President  Dwight  "Timothy" 
and  Barlow  "Joel."  But  I  am  glad  that  you  abstained,  as  I 
think  you  did,  from  calling  Berkeley  "  George." 

The  well-bred  negligee  of  your  style  is  the  last  achievement 
of  the  master.  Turn,  if  you  please,  to  page  106,  and  read  the 
paragraph  ending  at  the  top  of  page  107,  and  frankly  admit  that 
you  are  captivated  by  the  grace  of  the  writer.  What  consum 
mate  characterization!  How  exquisitely  expressed!  In  short,  I 
consider  the  author  of  Three  men  of  letters  as  good  a  master  of 
style  as  any  now  writing  English  anywhere  on  this  continent. 
After  saying  this  much  with  all  sincerity  about  this  particular 
book,  I  feel  bound  to  add  that  your  article  on  the  American  Loyal 
ists  pleases  me  still  better.  It  realizes  about  perfectly  my  ideal 
of  what  such  a  paper  should  be.  A  series  of  essays  on  American 
history  treated  by  epochs  and  crises,  and  not  seeking  to  achieve 
a  formal  continuity  of  narrative,  would,  if  done  in  the  manner  of 
that  article  of  yours,  form  a  better  manual  of  instruction  for  me 
than  any  existing  work  that  I  know  on  the  general  subject.  .  . 

WILLIAM  C.  WILKINSON. 

LETTER  FROM  THEODORE  TILTON  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

73  Ave.  Kleber,  Paris, 

December  28,  1895. 
MY  DEAR  OLD  COMRADE  AND  FRIEND: 

It  was  with  joy  and  affection  that  I  received  your  charming 
letter,  together  with  the  Christmas  gift  which  accompanied  it. 
I  have  read  your  little  book,  wishing  it  were  bigger. 


286  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

The  facts  which  you  narrate  concerning  your  Three  men  of 
letters  are,  for  the  most  part,  new  to  me;  but  the  style,  my  dear 
fellow! — the  same  old,  simple,  grave,  and  perfect  style — easy 
yet  strong  —  genial  yet  merciless  in  criticism  —  philosophic  to 
the  marrow-bone,  yet  often  as  frolicsome  as  a  fairy  tale  —  all 
this  I  recognized  so  promptly  that  if  your  title  page  had  not 
borne  your  name  I  should  at  once  have  taxed  you  with  the 
authorship. 

Your  theory  as  to  Berkeley's  long  tarriance  in  America  had 
never  occurred  to  me,  but  your  explanation  seems  to  solve  the 
enigma.  Dwight  was  to  me  in  my  early  sermon-swallowing 
years  a  magnificent  bore  —  and  never  in  real  genius  to  be  com 
pared  with  Jonathan  Edwards. 

Barlow  I  have  not  peeped  into  since  my  green  and  salad  days, 
and  all  that  I  now  remember  of  him  is  that  in  his  Hasty  puddingy 
he  says  something  like  this: 

"It  makes  me  blush 
To  hear  rude  Pennsylvanians  call  thee  mush." 

There  are  two  other  monographs  which  I  hope  you  will  make — 
Washington  Irving  and  Cullen  Bryant,  both  of  whom  are  sliding 
down  from  their  first  rank  —  and  you  could  hold  up  their  names; 
each  of  which  ought  to  be  a  clarum  et  venerabile  nomen. 

When  you  come  to  Paris,  let  me  know,  and  if  I  am  in  Siberia, 
I  will  return  to  meet  you. 

Ever  yours  as  of  old, 

THEODORE  TILTON. 

Ithaca,  13  January,  1896.  Gave  most  of  the  morning  to  J. 
Colin  Forbes,  who  took  preliminary  sittings  here  at  my  study 
for  a  sketch  portrait. 

LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

St.  Ignace,  Mich.,  July  21,  1896 

...  I  finished  my  last  lecture  at  ten  minutes  past  twelve 
to-day;  and  after  an  ordeal  of  farewell  greetings  —  with  much 
verbal  confectionery  which  seemed  to  be  sincere  —  I  got  my  din- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  287 

ner  and  got  out  of  town  by  the  2 150  train.  The  journey  from 
there  to  Mackinaw  City  was  through  a  region  of  pine  desolation 
and  frontier  roughness.  My  joy  came  about  half-past  four,  when 
we  reached  the  huge  black  ice-crushing  boat  which  brought  us 
across  to  this  quiet  and  ancient  place  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
straits;  the  cool  breath  of  the  lake  was  refreshing,  and  the  sight 
of  Mackinac  Island  was  majestic.  It  is  simply  balmy  to  rest  out 
here  in  the  cool,  sweet  air  and  to  feel  that  my  ten  lectures  are  ove-r 
and  I  still  live.  I  had  but  one  lecture  to-day,  so  that  I  am 
already  in  a  measure  recovered  from  my  previous  fatigue;  I 
gave  three  lectures  yesterday,  so  as  to  purchase  the  freedom  to 
escape  this  afternoon. 

Upon  the  whole  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  agreed  to  go  to  Bay 
View.  The  audiences  are  very  thoughtful  and  serious  and  most 
attentive  and  in  them  are  teachers  and  ministers.  They  are 
heavy  as  regards  the  appreciation  of  any  light  stroke  of  humor, 
but  while  they  are  very  undemonstrative,  I  never  anywhere  have 
audiences  so  appreciative  and  so  grateful.  After  every  lec 
ture  I  have  had  expressions  of  such  a  kind  from  many  men  and 
women.  After  every  lecture,  too,  some  new  surprise  awaited  me 
in  the  revelation  of  an  old  friend  or  acquaintance.  It  seems 
to  me  almost  like  the  surprises  that  may  come  to  us  after  death 
when  we  go  wandering  about  Paradise  and  stumble  up  against 
an  old  friend  at  every  corner.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  these  things 
when  I  get  home.  ...  M. 

Ithaca,  3  November,  1896.  Yesterday  I  finished  the  thirty- 
nine  chapters,  and  sent  them  to  Putnam  by  express.  They 
weighed  just  nineteen  pounds!  I  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  something 
—  a  baby  perhaps  —  and  I  can  hardly  realize  my  full  freedom. 
I'm  going  to  vote  now,  and  then  spend  the  whole  forenoon  on 
horseback  on  the  high  hills  of  Danby,  and  try  to  recuperate. 

Ithaca,  17 'April,  1897.  At  10:40  this  morning  was  surprised 
by  a  long  autograph  letter  from  President  Dwight  of  Yale,  marked 
personal  and  private,  and  in  terms  of  confidence  and  warm 


288  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

-* 

friendship  offering  me  the  Emily  Sanford  professorship  of  Eng 
lish  literature.  Moreover,  he  states  some  of  the  inducements, 
and  appeals  to  my  loyalty  and  love  for  old  Yale. 

I  had  not  expected  ever  again  to  be  pulled  out  from  my  equa 
nimity  in  this  way.  I  am  torn  between  the  powerful  attractions 
of  the  two  places.  Jeannette  was  out  at  the  time.  As  soon  as 
she  returned  I  read  to  her  Tim  Dwight's  letter  (dear  old  Tim) 
and  also  the  first  draft  of  my  own  letter  to  President  Schur- 
man  informing  him  of  this  call  and  of  my  own  embarrassment 
respecting  it. 

Of  course  all  other  matters  yield  to  this.  I  can  think  of  noth 
ing  else.  Unable  after  luncheon  to  take  my  nap,  I  went  down 
town  and  took  a  long  ride. 

Ithaca,  30  April,  1897.  Jeannette  and  I  have  visited  New 
Haven,  and  have  wrestled  in  much  anguish  with  this  problem. 
This  morning  I  received  first  copy  of  first  volume  of  my  new  book; 
and  also  wrote  a  loving  letter  to  dear  old  Tim,  sorrowfully  telling 
him  that  the  call  to  Yale  comes  too  late!  Did  I  ever  dream  that 
I  could  refuse  a  call  to  old  Yale. 

[In  connection  with  the  Sanford  professorship  call  to  Yale, 
the  following  appeared  in  a  New  Haven  paper:] 

"It  is  feared  that  the  vacant  professorship  in  English  lit 
erature  at  Yale  may  not  be  filled  this  spring,  as  was  hoped.  [It 
is  known  at  Yale  that  the  faculty  has  thought  highly  of  the 
plan  of  offering  the  position  to  Moses  Coit  Tyler,  head  of  the 
department  of  American  history  at  Cornell  University.  Pro 
fessor  Tyler  has  just  paid  a  visit  to  this  city,  and  it  has  been  ru 
mored  that  he  held  a  conference  with  the  Yale  faculty  on  the 
subject.  It  was  stated  this  afternoon,  however,  on  the  highest 
authority  that  Professor  Tyler  had  no  thought  of  leaving  Cornell, 
and  so  the  chances  of  announcing  an  incumbent  of  the  Sanford 
professorship  at  present  are  small." 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  289 

LETTER  FROM  PROFESSOR  WHEELER,  OF  YALE,  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  Haven,  May  5,  i£p/ 
MY  DEAR  TYLER: 

President  Dwight  showed  me  your  letter  last  evening.  I 
cannot  say  that  I  am  wholly  disappointed,  but  I  am  awfully  sorry, 
for  I  had  really  set  my  heart  upon  your  coming,  hoping  somewhat 
against  hope. 

Your  decision  is  doubtless  correct.  It  is  a  serious  and  hap 
hazard  thing  for  a  man  who  has  reached  our  time  of  life  to  tear 
himself  out  of  his  nest,  and  especially  out  of  such  a  nest  as  you 
have  made  for  yourself  where  you  are.  It  was  not  to  be  done 
unless  you  could  see  your  way  perfectly  clear. 

Well,  Moses,  let  us,  nevertheless,  hold  together  somehow 
during  the  years  that  remain,  and  try  to  meet  often  enough  at 
least  to  keep  green  the  memories  of  the  earlier  time. 

With  kind  remembrance  to  Mrs.  Tyler, 

Faithfully  yours,  A.  M.  WHEELER. 

LETTER  FROM  ALBERT  BUSHNELL  HART  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Cambridge,  May  6,  1897 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

May  I  most  cordially  thank  you  for  the  first  volume  of  your 
Literary  history  of  the  American  revolution  —  not  alone  for  the 
copy  kindly  sent  me  by  the  publisher,  but  for  the  years  of  well- 
directed  labor,  the  thought,  the  style,  and  the  just  and  im 
partial  treatment.  I  have  already  since  yesterday  (having 
bought  one  copy  before  the  publisher's  gift  arrived)  gone  over 
the  whole  volume,  and  have  noted  with  extreme  pleasure  the 
discussion  of  the  recently  serious  questions  of  the  Revolution  — 
principles,  political  arguments,  and  responsibility. 

How  useful  all  your  published  work  has  been  in  this  prepara 
tion  of  the  American  history  told  by  contemporaries  will  appear 
in  the  preface,  introduction,  and  head  notes  of  the  work.  My 
plan  has  been  to  use  your  volumes  after  I  had  canvassed  avail 
able  material  to  suggest  authors  otherwise  unknown  to  me;  and 
to  aid  in  making  final  selection;  and  to  give  a  background  of  the 
personality  of  writers.  .  .  . 


29o  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

I  should  envy  you,  my  dear  Professor  Tyler,  in  your  monu 
ment  of  historical  work  were  it  not  that  none  of  your  friends 
can  envy  one  who  has  put  us  all  under  obligations.  I  mean  no 
more  than  that  you  have  accomplished  what  younger  men  dream 
—  the  leaving  to  posterity  of  a  standard  piece  of  literary  work 
which  need  never  be  done  over  again  — "perennius  vere." 

Sincerely  and  gratefully, 
ALBERT  BUSHNELL  HART. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  HUFFCUT,  DEAN  OF  CORNELL  UNIVERSITY  LAW 
SCHOOL,  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Ithaca,  May  n,  1897 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  am  more  delighted  than  I  can  tell  you  to  receive  an  auto 
graph  copy  of  your  Literary  history  of  the  American  revolution. 
The  charm  of  the  book  will  be  doubled  when  I  read  it  from  this 
volume  which  came  to  me,  I  venture  to  believe,  from  the  heart 
of  the  author.  The  spell  that  first  took  possession  of  me  in 
Morrill  Hall  about  fifteen  years  ago  is  again  upon  me,  and  I 
shall  soon  be  levelling  a  charge  of  witchcraft  against  the  danger 
ous  professor  of  American  history  at  Cornell  University,  and  I 
shall  not  be  without  credible  witness. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  Professor  Tyler, 

Ever  faithfully, 

ERNEST  W.  HUFFCUT. 


LETTER  FROM  W.  D.  HOWELLS  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New  York,  May  23,  1897 
MY  DEAR  MR.  TYLER: 

I  thank  you  for  the  book,  which  I  have  already  tasted  with 
delight.  If  it  should  come  in  my  way  this  to-be-distracted 
summer,  I  would  like  to  write  of  it,  but  I  cannot  promise  my 
self  anything  definitely. 

Yours  sincerely, 
W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  291 

LETTER  FROM  GEORGE  W.  CABLE  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

New   York,  May  29,  1897 
DEAR  SIR: 

I  have  been  so  impressed  with  the  importance  of  your  fascina 
ting  Literary  history  of  the  American  revolution  that  I  propose 
to  give  it  an  extended  notice  in  Current  literature  for  July.  May 
I  not  print  in  the  same  issue  some  photograph  of  you  not  hitherto 
reproduced,  and  can  you  send  me  one,  kindly  letting  me  know 
what  expense  it  was  to  you,  that  I  may  remit  the  amount?  I 
shall  count  this  a  kind  favor. 

Moreover,  it  strikes  me  that  in  collecting  such  masses  of  ma 
terial  for  your  history,  as  you  must  have  been  gathering  for 
years,  you  must  have  come  into  possession  of  matters  —  pictures 
or  other  things  —  of  illustrative  value  which  it  must  have  been 
a  disappointment  to  you  not  to  use  in  your  volumes.  If  we  might 
have  a  chance  to  make  a  picture  or  two  of  one  or  two  such  things 
in  a  manner  to  make  it  or  them  worthy  of  your  work,  it  would 
add  to  the  interest  of  what  we  wish  to  say  in  print,  and  to  our 
grateful  sense  of  obligation. 

Yours  truly, 

GEORGE  W.  CABLE. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Wolfville,  N.   S.j  June  20,   1897 
Sunday  morning 

Here  I  am  in  the  heart  of  Evangeline's  land  in  the  quiet  little 
village  which  is  the  seat  of  Acadia  College.  The  college  is  a 
simple  frame  building  on  a  sloping  eminence  amid  trees  and 
grass,  and  looks  off  upon  miles  of  pretty  country  and  the  very 
basin  of  Minas,  on  which  the  vessels  were  anchored  before  they 
carried  Evangeline  and  her  lover. 

The  air  has  a  singular  purity  and  sweetness  and  it  smacks 
of  the  sea,  and  it  helps  to  peace  of  mind  and  all  slumberous 
moods.  Of  course  I  arrived  here  tired,  and  last  night  I  must  have 
slept  a  deep  sleep  for  more  than  ten  hours. 


292  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

To  go  back  a  little  and  tell  of  my  history  since  I  left  home: 
After  doing  an  errand  or  two  in  Boston,  went  back  to  the  station 
and  got  my  trunk  and  with  it  on  a  hack  drove  over  to  the  Lewis 
wharf,  where  lay  the  steamer  for  Yarmouth.  I  rambled  about 
that  place  a  bit  till  the  train  started;  and  then  we  rolled  along 
through  a  pretty  country,  and  stopped  awhile  near  the  old  for 
tress  of  Annapolis  —  the  oldest  European  settlement  on  this 
continent  north  of  St.  Augustine  —  three  years  older  than  James 
town. 

Sunday,  2:20  p.  M.  The  chilly  rain  has  set  in,  and  the  whole 
lovely  country  is  wrapped  in  cold  and  wet.  I  have  made  use  of 
a  part  of  my  time  this  morning  to  drive  over  to  Grand  Pre  — 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy  in  Evangeline.  I  had  a  very  intelligent 
man  for  guide;  and  saw  the  site  of  the  old  church  where  the 
Acadians  were  forced  to  hear  the  king's  order  of  banishment; 
the  road  by  which  they  marched  amid  weeping  women,  to  the 
harbor,  to  be  transported.  .  .  .  MOSES. 


21  June,  1897.  On  the  train  from  Wolfville  to  Windsor. 
At  the  latter  I  am  to  arrive  at  1 115  and  shall  have  two  hours  to 
look  at  the  fine  old  place.  Here  Judge  Haliburton  lived  and 
wrote  his  Sam  Slick.  Here  the  Loyalists  founded  in  1788  King's 
College  —  a  fine  old  church  college  on  a  very  Anglican  pattern. 
After  two  hours  at  Windsor  I  expect  to  get  a  train  that  will 
fetch  me  to  Halifax  by  six.  The  day  is  beautiful  and  so  is  the 
country.  Tide  fifty  feet  high. 

Hotel  Aberdeen,  Kentville,  June  24, 1897 

Here  I  am  at  the  first  stage  of  my  homeward  journey.  I 
left  Halifax  yesterday  afternoon,  and  having  spent  the  night  here 
am  to  leave  in  about  two  hours  for  Digby,  whence  by  steamer  I 
cross  over  to  St.  John,  New  Brunswick,  going  through  Bangor, 
Portland,  etc.  I  feel  pretty  sure  now  that  I  shall  go  to  New 
Haven  for  class  meeting. 

My  visit  at  Halifax  has  been  of  much  interest  to  me.    Upon 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  293 

the  whole,  however,  I  am  disappointed  in  Halifax  and  in  Nova 
Scotia.  They  afford  no  very  real  change  of  scene  for  us;  are 
but  variations  of  the  same  old  American  tune.  Halifax  itself 
has  almost  nothing  that  is  beautiful  or  attractive,  except  what 
Nature  has  done  for  it.  It  seems  amazingly  dull  and  behind 
hand.  At  this  time  of  the  year  Nova  Scotia  is  pretty,  and  the 
air  is  certainly  fine;  but  for  a  summer  stay  I  don't  think  we 
should  care  for  it.  Everywhere  the  standard  of  living  seems  lower 
than  ours.  On  the  whole,  I'd  give  more  for  a  day  in  Europe 
than  for  a  month  here.  I  was  kept  on  the  fly  at  Halifax,  yet  I 
am  feeling  better  than  when  I  left  home,  and  in  another  week 
shall  be  quite  ready  to  resume  work  again  on  the  book  and  finish 
it  up.  ... 

THINE  OLD  MAN. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COJT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Boston,  June  27,  1897 

.  .  .  I  was  up  at  five  yesterday  morning  to  take  the  early 
train  from  St.  John,  New  Brunswick,  and  I  travelled  on  the  same 
car  all  day  till  nearly  ten  last  night,  when  I  arrived  here,  thor 
oughly  tired,  as  you  may  imagine.  This  morning  I  felt  rather 
played  out,  not  having  had  a  good  night's  sleep;  and  under  the 
depression  of  mind  thus  produced  I  resolved  not  to  go  to  class 
meeting,  but  to  take  the  train  for  home.  In  the  course  of  the 
day  my  spirits  have  rallied  somewhat  and  I  feel  more  courage 
to  face  the  experience  of  seeing  classmates  after  the  changes 
wrought  by  forty  years,  and  I  have  resolved  to  go.  ... 

Thine,  MOSES. 

New  Haven,  28]Juney  1897.  Have  arrived  all  right  and  taken 
rooms  in  a  private  house  in  Crown  street.  Tried  to  get  into  the 
old  house  where  I  used  to  room,  but  it  was  full.  Have  seen  no 
one  yet.  Am  well  and  glad  I  came.  Just  saw  a  big  class  go  to 
the  ivy  planting,  etc.,  as  we  did  forty  years  ago.  They  looked 
just  as  we  did. 


294  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LETTER  FROM  WILLIAM  CLEAVER  WILKINSON  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Chicago,  July  7,  1897 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR: 

I  have  this  day  finished  with  regret  the  reading  of  the  first 
volume  of  your  Literary  history  of  the  American  revolution.  I 
have  seldom  read  anything  in  prose  or  in  verse  that  has  given 
me  such  unqualified  satisfaction.  But  this  expresses  my  senti 
ment  feebly.  In  truth  my  admiration  and  enjoyment  of  your 
work  have  been  unbounded.  Your  style  captivates  me.  It  is 
nearly  ideal.  The  delicious  aeration  of  humor  in  it  tickles  my 
literary  respiration  to  such  delight  of  life !  No  excess  of  humor, 
such  as  that  offered  in  that  wittiest  of  writers,  James  Russell 
Lowell,  but  all  in  admirably  just  and  happy  measure.  But 
more  of  course  and  better  than  the  exquisite  style,  so  lucid,  so 
direct,  so  urbane,  so  impressed  with  distinction  of  every  sort,  is 
the  noble  largeness  and  justness  of  view,  the  Christian  humane 
ness  of  sentiment,  the  candor,  the  willingness,  and  the  sympathetic 
capacity  to  see  both  sides  and  to  give  both  credit  according 
to  truth  and  not  according  to  passion  —  in  short,  these  are  the 
traits  that  should  characterize  the  historian.  For  I  should  con 
fidently  expect,  if  I  followed  critically  upon  your  track  in  the 
region  of  sources  and  authorities,  to  find  that  both  your  honesty 
and  your  sagacity  were  equal  to  your  need,  and  that  the  skill 
with  which  you  conduct  narrative  and  with  which  you  determine 
the  order  of  your  progress  gives  your  reader  delightful  con 
fidence,  never  failing,  never  disappointed  in  his  guide.  Said 
reader  marches,  or,  rather,  trips,  lightly  along,  no  unnecessary 
impedimenta  embarrassing  his  movement.  I  empty  out  my 
praise  like  water  escaping  from  a  full  bottle  suddenly  inverted. 
The  water  does  not  get  out  very  well,  but  it  shows  its  eagerness 
to  do  so.  I  shall  quite  literally  wait  with  much  impatience 
for  the  second  volume.  I  ought  to  say  that  three  of  us  have 
read  your  book,  every  word  of  it,  together.  We  have  all  of  us 
enjoyed  it  equally.  Cordially, 

W.  C.  WILKINSON. 

New  York,  9  July,  1897.  Left  home  at  about  ten  minutes  of 
eight  in  the  morning;  reached  Twenty- third  street,  New  York, 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  295 

at  six  in  the  evening.  At  seven  was  at  Century  club  to  dine 
with  George  Haven  Putnam.  Talked  about  literary  plans. 
He  was  greatly  taken  with  my  plan  for  developing  American 
history  through  biographies,  after  the  spirit  of  Plutarch. 

New  York,  30  July,  1897.  Began  early  with  some  proof- 
sheets  that  I  had  brought  with  me. 

.  .  .  Went  to  Pier  39,  foot  of  Houston  street,  and  inspected 
the  ship  Massachusetts  which  is  to  carry  me  and  my  fortune 
out  into  the  sea  to-morrow.  Afterward,  at  twelve,  called  by 
appointment  on  Mr.  W.  Appleton  and  discussed  with  him  a 
proposal  that  I  should  do  the  volume  in  American  literature  in 
a  series  of  books  projected  by  Edmund  Gosse  and  to  be  published 
here  and  in  London.  In  afternoon  rested  a  bit;  later  took  boat 
to  Coney  Island  and  returned  by  half -past  seven.  Tired. 


LETTER  FROM  CHARLES  KENDALL  ADAMS  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

North  East  Harbor,  Maine,  July  30, 


MY  DEAR  TYLER: 

I  have  this  moment  finished  Volume  I  of  the  great  book.  How 
superbly  you  have  done  your  work!  It  greatly  exceeds  my 
expectations,  high  as  they  were.  It  is  marvellous  that  you 
have  held  the  balance  so  evenly  and  have  succeeded  in  deciding 
all  questions  with  such  marvellous  impartiality  as  to  conceal 
your  own  predilections. 

The  most  successful  part,  or,  rather,  I  should  say  the  most 
striking  part,  is  your  dealing  with  the  Loyalists.  I  shudder  to 
think  that  if  you  and  I  had  been  born  just  a  century  earlier  or 
possibly  a  little  more  —  we  might  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  have  been  "blue  noses"  or  "Cannicks  "and  our  descend 
ants  might  have  been  seeking  college  presidencies  and  fellow 
ships  at  Cornell  and  elsewhere!  Isn't  it  an  appalling  thought? 
And  yet  you  have  done  the  Loyalists  full  justice  without  going 


296  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

over  to  their  side,  as  I  feared  you  would  do.  The  chapter  on  the 
Declaration  is  also  great.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  be  quite  just  to 
the  blatherskite  who  wrote  it.  Inspired  he  doubtless  was, 
but  still  he  was  a  blatherskite. 

I  am  impatient  for  the  second  volume.  When  can  I  have  it? 
Don't  think,  my  dear  fellow,  of  giving  up  the  job.  You  are  the 
foreordained  historian  of  the  country.  In  fifteen  or  twenty 
more  years  you  can  double  the  number  of  your  volumes  and 
pass  on  a  magnificent  growth  of  volumes  to  a  grateful  futurity. 
And  I?  What  I  have  done  seems  merely  to  have  been  throwing 
my  effort  into  the  air  —  whether  or  not  I  have  enriched  or  helped 
anybody  is  more  than  I  can  guess.  I  look  with  unqualified 
admiration  upqn  the  way  you  have,  for  this  great  result,  denied 
yourself  to  all  alluring  solicitations.  There  are  doubtless  times 
when  the  method  of  Bunyan's  hero  is  the  only  way.  If  you  have 
put  your  fingers  in  your  ears  and  shouted  "Life,  eternal  life!" 
you  now  have  your  reward. 

The  book,  while  having  the  same  general  traits  as  the  first 
one,  deals  with  subjects  of  greater  importance,  and  consequently 
is  entitled  to  higher  rank.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  when  there 
has  been  a  contribution  to  our  historical  literature  of  so  much 
worth. 

How  I  wish  you  could  come  to  see  us!  We  are  here  in  our 
cottage  and  should  be  delighted  to  welcome  you  and  Mrs.  Tyler. 
Can't  you  come,-say,  the  first  or  second  week  of  September?  We 
go  out  for  meals,  but  find  in  the  fact  no  inconvenience,  and  we 
can  easily  furnish  you  with  the  due  quota  of  pillows  and  plates. 
Mrs.  Adams  will  join  in  a  hearty  welcome. 

Remember  us  both  kindly  to  wife  and  daughter,  if  she  is 
there,  and  believe  me, 

Very  truly  yours, 

C.  K.  ADAMS. 


At  Sea,  2  August,  1897.  Well,  that  tells  my  story.  Sixty- 
two  years  old!  This  was  the  last  birthday  my  dear  father  ever 
had;  and  if  I  live  till  next  November  I  shall  live  as  long  as  he  did. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  297 

A  glorious  night's  sleep  last  night;  the  state-room  was  cool  and  full 
of  fresh  air,  and  all  day,  under  a  clear  sky,  we  have  been  steaming 
along  at  a  steady  pace  of  about  eleven  knots  an  hour.  I  have 
be'en  reading  Peter  Ibbetson  —  my  first  taste  of  it;  and  my 
expectations  are  not  fully  met.  Comes  upon  me  the  drawing 
to  write  my  novel  —  my  story  of  the  tragic  love  episode  of  the 
Bacon  rebellion  in  Virginia.  Would  it  not  be  wise  for  me  to  fill 
my  mind  with  the  subject,  and  write  the  thing  out  and  be  done 
with  it,  and  see  what  comes  of  it;  and  after  that  go  at  my  Plu- 
tarchian  labors  —  if  I  live?  I  wonder  if  I  shall  live.  Constantly 
am  I  haunted  this  year  by  the  thought  of  sudden  death.  It 
is  not  a  gloomy  thought  —  rather  is  it  a  fascinating  one  —  and 
yet  I  should  like  to  stay  here  ten  years  longer  and  finish  a  few 
more  pieces  of  work. 


LETTER  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE 

Cor  da,  Shanklin,  Isle  of  Wight,  Aug.  29, 1897 

I  came  down  here  from  London  day  before  yesterday.  I  had 
no  address,  but  looked  around  for  an  hour  or  two  and  finally 
took  this  boarding  establishment.  It  is  in  beautiful  grounds 
and  near  the  sea,  and  is  a  regular  continental  pension,  though 
conducted  by  English  people.  There  is  much  ceremony  at  table 
and  all  the  people  but  myself  are  Britons,  apparently.  Table  is 
most  excellent,  and  for  all  this  I  am  paying  less  than  I  should 
have  to  do  at  the  crude  Beachcroft  or  even  at  Slater ville.  But. 
what  I  want  to  tell  you  is  my  great  pleasure  in  the  Isle  of  Wight 
—  my  joy  in  its  air,  beauty,  history,  life,  and  especially  in  the: 
picturesqueness  of  this  particular  place.  I  don't  wonder  that 
Tennyson  chose  the  Isle  of  Wight  for  his  home;  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  here  a  man  could  write  poetry  if  he  could  do  it  anywhere. 
It  far  more  than  meets  my  expectations  in  every  respect.  Next 
year  when  we  are  in  Europe  together  ^  $hpuld  lik&  to  bring  you 

here  and  have  you  enjoy  this  paradise, 

*> 


298  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  September  9, 1897 

.  .  .  My  departure  from  the  Isle  of  Wight  was  last  Monday 
morning,  arriving  at  Salisbury  by  noon.  I  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  and  near  the  wonderful  cathedral  —  the  most  graceful 
one  in  England — and  I  greatly  enjoyed  staying  at  an  old  hotel 
called  the  Crown.  On  the  visitors'  book  I  found  the  names  of 
Colonel  Higginson,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  who  lately  spent  a 
week  there.  On  Tuesday  morning  I  drove  out  to  Stonehenge 

—  nine  miles  from  Salisbury.     I  was  deeply  impressed  by  this 
colossal  relic  of  an  unknown  past.     Early  in  the  afternoon  I 
left  for  Winchester,  and  had  the  latter  part  of  the  day  for  its 
cathedral,  and  the  following  forenoon  for  the  famous  old  school 
and  some  historic  places  in  the  town. 

Windemere,  September  12,  1897 

At  last  I  am  getting  a  view  of  this  beautiful  Lake  District 

—  this  haunt  and  home  of  great  literary  memories  —  this  Words- 
worthshire,  as  Lowell  calls  it.     And  the  weather  is  most  glorious 

—  full  of  sunshine  and  clear,  balmy  and  bracing  air.     Of  course 
I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  look  about  much.     I  have  just  come 
from  church,  where  we  had  a  most  hearty  service  and  a  refresh 
ing  sermon;  and  this  afternoon  I  am  going  to  devote  to  rambling 
in  this  neighborhood.     .     .     . 

I  want  to  let  you  know  that  I  have  quite  thrown  off  the  cold 
which  threatened  me  a  few  days  ago,  and  am  now  feeling  exceed 
ingly  well  and  eager  to  sail  out  into  the  Atlantic  deeps  for  home. 
.  .  .  How  I  wish  that  you  were  with  me  here  now  in  this 
charming  place,  that  we  could  see  together  what  it  has  to  show 
us.  This  travelling  alone  is  hard. 

[The  following  letters,  from  four  well-known  men  to  Moses 
Coit  Tyler,  are  placed  here,  although  out  of  chronological  order. 
They  were  written  during  this  trip  to  Europe,  but  were  not  re 
ceived  until  his  return  to  America:] 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  299 

LETTER  FROM  WILLIAM  E.  GLADSTONE   TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

August  12,  1897 
DEAR  SIR: 

Your  volume  has  just  reached  me  and  I  have  to  thank  you 
for  your  great  courtesy 

For  nearly  half  a  century  I  have  been  an  admiring  student 
of  the  American  Revolution  and  I  believe  myself  to  owe  to  it 
an  appreciable  part  of  my  own  political  education. 
Allow  me  to  remain,  dear  sir, 

Yours  very  faithfully,  WILLIAM  E.  GLADSTONE. 

LETTER  FROM  EDWARD  DOWDEN  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Buona  Vista ,  Dublin,  August  27,  189? 
DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  need  not  before  writing  read  your  first  volume  of  The  literary 
history  of  the  American  Revolution  —  though  I  am  eager  to  read 
it  —  for  I  know  what  to  expect  — a  great  addition  to  my  knowl 
edge,  thorough  scholarship,  sound  judgment,  and  a  critical 
method  which  results  in  the  best  of  literary  attainments  —  the 
equity  of  large  sympathy. 

I  have  been  away  from  home  and  have  only  just  returned, 
to  find  the  book  waiting  for  me.  I  shall  not  feel  it  fully  my  own 
until  I  have  become  acquainted  with  all  its  contents.  A  visit 
to  Princeton  last  year  brought  me  somewhat  nearer  to  the  world 
and  the  past  time  of  which  you  speak.  I  wish  it  had  been  pos 
sible  to  have  gone  to  Cornell  University,  but  my  Dublin  work 
obliged  me  to  return  immediately  after  the  Princeton  celebration. 
Should  your  second  volume  appear  early  in  the  autumn,  it  is 
just  possible  that  it  might  set  me  writing  something  for  that  tri 
lingual  Cosmopolis,  but  it  might  also  happen  that  it  might  give 
me  too  full  a  sense  of  my  own  ignorance  to  allow  me  to  do  this. 
I  have  promised  to  send  something  to  the  editor  for  November 
or  December.  At  present  I  can  only  wish  that  it  were  possible 
for  me  to  make  your  book  the  subject  of  an  article. 

Pray  give  my  kindest  remembrance  to  Professor  Corson  and 
believe  me,  Very  truly  yours, 

EDWARD  DOWDEN. 


300  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LETTER  FROM  FREDERICK  LEWIS  PATTEE   TO  MESSRS.  PUTNAM 

State  College,  Pennsylvania,  September  4,  1897 
DEAR  SIRS: 

Near  the  close  of  the  summer  session  here  I  received  from 
you  a  copy  of  Vol.  I  of  Professor  Tyler's  Literary  history  of 
the  American  revolution.  As  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  leaving 
for  a  summer's  wheeling  tour  through  England  and  Scotland, 
I  had  time  to  give  it  only  a  glance.  Since  my  return,  however, 
last  week,  I  have  taken  the  earliest  opportunity  of  examining 
it  and  I  will  now  report  my  impressions.  I  have  been  long  ac 
quainted  with  the  history  of  our  colonial  literature  by  Professor 
Tyler  and  I  mentioned  it  several  years  ago  in  our  text-book  on 
our  literature  as  the  supreme  authority  on  the  period.  I  can 
now  extend  my  statement  so  as  to  include  the  present  volume 
in  hand.  Every  page  shows  traces  of  great  research  among 
original  documents.  It  seems  to  be  exhaustive.  One  has  the 
impression  constantly  that  every  pains  that  patience  and  schol 
arship  can  give  have  been  exhausted  to  make  the  work  a  complete 
and  final  authority.  I  believe  the  book  is  definite.  I  cannot 
conceive  how  a  more  thorough  and  accurate  history  could  be 
made.  I  am  singing  its  praises  right  and  left.  As  I  wrote 
Professor  Tyler,  I  have  been  impressed  more  and  more  with  the 
literary  merits  of  the  work.  Aside  from  its  scholarship,  its 
accuracy,  its  grasp  of  details,  and  its  wonderful  condensation, 
it  is  ajso  a  work  of  real  literary  art.  I  find  myself  reading 
chapter  after  chapter  with  headlong  interest  as  if  it  were  a  novel. 

^.gain  thanking  you  for  your  kindness  in  sending  me  a  copy 
of  the  first  volume  of  the  work,  I  am, 

Yours  cordially, 

FRED.  LEWIS  PATTEE. 

LETTER  FROM  W.  H.  LECKY  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 
London,  38  Onslow  Gardens,  S.  W.,  October  5,  1897 

MY  DEAR  SIR: 

I  am  afraid  you  must  have  thought  me  very  discourteous  in 
not  having  before  thanked  you  for  the  first  volume  of  your 
truly  original  Literary  history  of  the  American  revolution.  .  .  . 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  301 

I  only  returned  last  night  and  have  already  been  spending 
a  considerable  time  on  your  book,  which  seems  to  me  to  be  both 
admirable  in  its  thoroughness  and  a  perfect  marvel  of  the  candid 
treatment  of  a  highly  controversial  subject.  It  is  full  of  instruc 
tion  to  both  our  countries  and  will,  I  am  sure,  tend  powerfully 
to  the  end  which  you  have  so  well  indicated  in  your  preface. 
I  am  delighted  that  the  concluding  volume  is  actually  in  the 
press. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Yours  faithfully, 

W.  H.  LECKY. 


CHAPTER  XX 

1898 

LETTER  FROM  EDMUND  GOSSE  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  29  Delamere  Terrace,  Jan  i,  1898 
DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  have  to  thank  you  for  very  many  kind  letters  and  gifts. 
But  the  announced  Vol.  II  of  The  literary  history  of  the 
American  revolution  did  not  come.  So  I  eventually  possessed 
myself  of  it  in  the  ordinary  way;  and  I  have  written  a  belated 
review  of  it  (of  no  sort  of  value)  which  I  enclose  as  a  New  Year's 
greeting.  It  shows,  I  hope,  good  will  and  appreciation  of  your 
excellent  work,  which  indeed  needs  no  bush. 

Perhaps  you  will  take  my  review  as  a  letter  and  forgive  a 
brief  note  from  me  to-day,  as  my  hands  are  rather  full. 

With  all  the  most  cordial  wishes  of  the  season,  I  am,  my  dear 
Professor  Tyler,  Very  sincerely  yours, 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 


LETTER  FROM  WILLIAM  C.  WILKINSON  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Chicago,  February  26,  1898 
MY   DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  have  just  finished  the  second  volume  of  your  Literary  history 
of  the  American  revolution,  and  I  wish  to  congratulate  you  on 
the  happy  achievement  of  your  noble  task.  I  have  constantly 
admired  the  competent  knowledge  of  your  subject  everywhere 
displayed;  the  fine  sympathy  with  everything  lovely  and  of  good 
report;  the  even  judicial  balance  between  this  side  and  that  stead 
ily  maintained;  the  penetrative  sagacity  that  has  guided  you  safely 
where  there  was  such  excellent  chance  to  go  astray;  the  blithe 
humor  with  which  you  have  —  using  the  wisdom  of  the  not  too 

302 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  303 

much — lavished  your  pages,  and  the  fine,  choice,  copious  diction 
and  felicitous  phrase  and  satisfactory  rhythm  that  gave  distinc 
tion  to  your  style.  You  have  done  your  work  so  well  that  no 
one  worth  considering  will  ever  attempt  to  do  it  better. 

Cordially, 

WM.  C.  WILKINSON. 

LETTER    FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  THE  EDITOR  OF 
THE  NEW   YORK   TRIBUNE 

Cornell  University,  March  i,  1898 
SIR: 

I  beg  you  to  accept  my  thanks  for  the  excellent  notice  of 
my  books  as  given  by  you  in  your  literary  department  last 
Sunday.  Ever  since  I  became  a  writer  for  the  public  I  have 
received  generous  appreciation  from  the  Tribune,  and  have  reason 
to  remember  as  long  as  I  live  the  help  given  to  me  by  your  old 
literary  editor,  George  Ripley.  For  this  reason  I  had  been  es 
pecially  concerned  that  my  recent  publications  were  to  be  over 
looked  by  you  —  a  token  now  happily  removed. 

I  write  more  particularly  to  say  that  those  who  know  are 
already  giving  me  unmerciful  chaff  on  account  of  the  extraor 
dinary  image  which  in  the  same  paper  was  published  over  my 
name.  For  instance,  yesterday  afternoon,  as  I  went  to  vespers, 
my  rector  met  me  at  the  church  door,  and  in  earnest  tones  asked 
me  if  I  "were  not  going  to  murder  the  editor  of  the  Tribune." 
You  will  agree  with  me  that  when  a  minister  of  religion  begins 
to  prompt  one  of  his  parishioners  to  homicide,  the  case  must  be 
an  aggravated  one. 

I  wish  to  assure  you,  however,  that  not  yet  has  the  homicidal 
mania  seized  me,  and  I  content  myself  for  the  present  by  asking 
you  to  accept  a  copy  of  my  latest  photograph,  and  to  be  so  good 
as  to  hold  it  up  for  a  moment  by  the  side  of  the  portrait  which 
you  have  innocently  sent  to  your  readers  as  mine.  The  practical 
effects  of  such  a  representation  are  likely  to  be  felt  in  a  disastrous 
way  by  my  publishers,  if  the  remark  of  one  of  my  colleagues  is 
justifiable  —  that  he  would  not  buy  or  read  the  book  of  an  author 
who  looked  like  that  —  nay,  he  would  not  admit  the  book  into 
his  house. 


3o4  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

You  see,  therefore,  dear  Mr.  Tribune,  that  you  have  got  me 
into  a  scrape.  The  amount  of  derision  that  I  am  receiving, 
here  at  present,  both  personally  and  through  the  post-office 
has  perhaps  this  advantage,  that  it  conduces  to  Lenten  hu 
mility,  to  a  general  loss  of  appetite,  and  to  much  fasting  and 
prayer. 

I  don't  know  whether  the  photo  I  send  you  is  capable  of 
being  used  by  you  at  any  time  in  a  manner  likely  to  remove  the 
ghastly  impression  to  which  I  now  refer;  but  if  my  old  friend, 
Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid,  should  happen  to  be  personally  present 
when  this  letter  reaches  you,  I  think  his  benevolent  spirit  would 
find  satisfaction  in  advising  that  some  attempt  at  reparation 
be  made  to  me.  However,  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am 
getting  great  spiritual  good  out  of  this  discipline. 

Yours  sincerely,  MOSES  COIT  TYLER. 

LETTER  FROM  EDWARD  DOWDEN  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Buona  Vista,  Dublin,  April  8,  1898 
DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

I  have  allowed  long  ungrateful  —  no,  not  ungrateful  — 
months  to  slip  away  without  thanking  you  for  your  second 
volume.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  read  a  book  that  more  fills 
the  mind  and  satisfies  it.  I  think  the  explanation  of  its  distin 
guishing  quality  lies  in  entirely  adequate  knowledge  and  the 
spirit  of  intelligent  and  sympathetic  justice.  As  I  told  you,  I 
hoped  to  attempt  an  article  on  the  suggestion  of  your  book  in 
Cosmopolis,  but  the  editor,  while  beguiling  me  with  the  possi 
bility  that  he  would  invite  me  to  write  such  an  article  at 
some  future  time,  told  me  that  he  specially  wanted  an  article 
on  Heine,  and  as  I  happened  to  know  my  Heine  fairly  well,  so 
it  had  to  be. 

I  saw  that  you  had  consented  to  write  an  American  literature 
for  Mr.  Heinemann's  series  of  literatures  of  the  world.  Good 
luck  for  Mr.  Heinemann  and  good  luck  for  many  readers,  but 
for  my  own  part  I  like  the  sufficiency  and  wealth  of  a  big  book, 
and  if  the  lives  are  clearly  drawn,  the  breadth  and  depth  united, 
even  the  delaying  of  the  mind  on  a  subject  is  a  gain.  How- 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  305 

ever,  if  you  pursue  your  work  on  the  ampler  scale,  I  shall  find 
some  cause  to  thank  Heinemann  for  his  skill  in  capturing 
you.  .  .  .  Sincerely  yours, 

E.  DOWDEN. 

LETTER  FROM  EDMUND  GOSSE  TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

London,  29  Delamere  Terrace,  June  n,  1898 
MY  DEAR  TYLER: 

I  am  looking  forward  to  your  book  with  the  greatest  antici 
pations  of  enjoyment. 

By  the  way,  the  Appletons  (who  seem  to  be  afraid  to  write  to 
you  direct)  beg  me  to  keep  you  up  to  the  scheme  of  the  Amer 
ican  literature.  But  I  refuse  to  hurry  you. 

I  have  had  a  letter  from  Professor  Brander  Matthews,  in 
which  he  congratulates  me  on  seeing  you.  And  indeed  I  am 
proud  enough,  and  need  no  congratulations. 

Always  cordially  yours, 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 

LETTER   FROM   ERNEST   W.    HUFFCUT   TO   MOSES   COIT   TYLER 

Cornell  University,  July  12,  i8p8 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  TYLER: 

The  glimpses  are  a  joy.  So  is  the  glimpser.  I  always  wanted 
to  know  him  when  he  was  just  out  of  college  and  looking  around 
with  a  humorous  eye  upon  men  and  things  preparatory  to  set 
tling  down.  I've  a  kodak  of  him  at  that  interesting  period,  thanks 
to  him,  and  I  like  it  very  much.  It  was  a  happy  thought  to 
give  us  these  sketches  of  a  generation  ago,  for  they  have  kept 
wonderfully  well,  and  the  fragrance  is  as  the  fragrance  of  yes 
terday.  Thank  you  for  the  bouquet. 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

ERNEST  W.  HUFFCUT. 

Ithaca,  i  August,  i8p8.  At  8:40  A.M.  we  two  left  the  East 
Ithaca  station  for  Canastota  and  Lake  George.  Reached  the 
latter  (Caldwell)  at  about  eight  in  the  evening,  belated,  and  in 


3o6  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

a  heavy  storm  of  rain  and  thunder.     We  are  at  the  Lake  House 
and  in  one  of  the  cottages. 

Caldwell,  2  August,  1898.  Mtatis  63.  Before  breakfast  I  got 
out  to  orient  myself,  having  been  pitchforked  into  the  town 
last  night  in  the  darkness.  The  air  is  worthy  of  the  fame  of 
this  place  for  that  article.  At  nine  we  took  boat  across  the 
length  of  Lake  George.  We  are  charmed  with  the  beauty  of 
Lake  George.  I  got  a  clear  idea  of  the  site  of  Fort  Ticonde- 
roga;  and  revised  my  impression  of  Burlington,  Vermont,  which 
I  saw  last  in  August,  1861.  We  reached  Plattsburg  at  7:00  P.M. 

Plattsburg  —  Montreal,  3  August,  1898.  After  breakfast  we 
took  electric  car  for  the  Hotel  Champlain,  a  superb  hotel  on  a 
noble  height  about  six  miles  south  of  this  town.  On  the  way 
going  and  coming  we  had  a  view  of  the  Army  Barracks  —  a 
series  of  comfortable  brick  buildings  with  suitable  grounds  for 
drill  and  parade;  also  of  the  Champlain  Assembly  grounds  — 
the  Catholic  Summer  School,  not  far  from  the  Hotel  Champlain. 
this  Catholic  Chautauqua  has  a  quiet  look,  not  much  like  the 
big  concern  in  western  New  York.  At  about  half-past  twelve 
we  took  the  train  for  Montreal,  getting  a  glimpse  of  Fort  Mont 
gomery,  near  Rouse's  Point,  arriving  at  Montreal  at  3  :oo  P.  M. 
We  have  taken  up  our  abode  at  the  Queen's  Hotel  —  too  near 
the  station,  and  otherwise  less  agreeable  than  we  expected.  We 
should  not  star  it  as  Baedeker  has  done.  After  getting  our 
trunks  through  the  customs,  we  took  electric  cars  to  Mount 
Royal,  overlooking  the  city;  ascending  the  hill  by  an  incline 
cable  car  —  much  to  the  disapproval  and  discomfort  of  my 
companion,  who,  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  seemed  to  fear 
that  she  was  in  danger  of  falling  off.  A  noble  view  of  the  city, 
mountain  and  plain,  but  less  spacious  than  would  have  been  the 
case  had  the  sky  been  clear. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  307 

Montreal,  4  August,  1898.  After  breakfast  we  went  to  the 
office  of  the  Richelieu  and  Ontario  Navigation  Company,  and 
secured  our  state-room  for  the  steamboat  to  Quebec,  leaving 
at  seven  to-night.  Then  we  visited  the  old  church  of  Notre 
Dame,  etc. —  Dominion  Square  —  and  the  objects  of  interest 

adjacent  to  each.  J would  not  go  into  the  Cathedral  of 

St.  James,  as  it  is  an  imitation  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  at  about 
half  size.  I  found  it  cheap  looking  outside  and  in;  the  pedestals 
of  the  columns  being  wooden  substitutes  for  the  granite  or  marble 
they  pretended  to  be.  I  went  alone  to  see  McGill  University. 
Fine  substantial  buildings,  especially  the  library.  All  had  a 
look  of  efficiency  and  thrift.  I  could  not  get  into  the  Anglican 
Cathedral,  which  apparently  is  open  for  the  uses  of  a  cathedral 
only  now  and  then;  at  least  it  is  not  what  it  should  be  —  a 
place  for  rest  and  meditation  and  prayer  all  day  long  and  every 
day  in  the  week. 

.  .  .  Having  got  ready  to  start  for  Quebec,  we  amused 
ourselves  by  spending  part  of  the  afternoon  in  an  electric  car 
ride  out  to  a  new  village  called  Cartier,  about  six  miles  up  the 
river;  then  back  around  the  mountain. 

At  5:45  we  left  the  Queen's  Hotel  by  cab  for  steamboat 
to  Quebec.  The  sail  down  the  river  is  charming.  I  was  in  Quebec 
just  thirty-seven  years  ago — August,  1861 — just  after  the  battle 
of  Bull  Run;  myself  in  poor  health.  I  was  greatly  impressed  by 
its  look  of  solidity  and  massiveness  —  more  so  than  now.  Prob 
ably  my  standard  has  changed;  certainly  my  own  mental  and 
physical  conditions  have  done  so. 

Quebec,  August  6,  i8p8.  We  were  on  deck  from  about  seven 
till  our  arrival  at  the  wharf  at  half-past  eight  in  the  morning. 
Watching  for  the  first  view  of  the  Heights  of  Abraham  and  the 
Citadel.  The  banks  of  the  noble  river  were  lower  than  I  had 
thought;  but  I  was  not  disappointed  in  the  sturdiness  of  Quebec. 


3o8  .MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

We  went  to  Hotel  Victoria  for  breakfast.  Then  looked  for 
quarters  for  our  week  or  two  here,  and  finally  decided  in  favor 
of  3  St.  Louis  street,  close  by  the  Chateau  Frontenac  and  the 
Esplanade.  Then  at  leisure  we  rambled  on  the  Esplanade 
and  sat  there  long,  looking  at  the  glorious  scene  —  almost  un 
surpassed  of  its  kind.  Then  a  car  ride  out  to  the  scene  of 
Wolfe's  victory  and  death  —  not  alighting. 

Quebec,  6  August,  1898.  The  day  has  been  spent  in  studying 
the  places  nearest  to  us;  the  Citadel,  and  the  things  en  route, 
then  the  streets  and  houses  between  here  and  the  Basilica.  Last 
of  all  a  car  ride  to  Wolfe's  monument.  The  place  of  his  death 
is  on  the  southern  slope  of  a  hill  —  the  highest  elevation  on 
the  Plains  of  Abraham  —  and  in  that  spot  he  could  hardly  have 
seen  much  of  the  action  in  front  —  unless  indeed  it  was  some 
to  the  left.  Much  of  the  plain  is  now  covered  with  streets, 
houses  and  enclosures;  and  it  requires  an  effort  to  picture  the 
scene. 

Quebec,  8  August,  1898.  Our  great  tour  to-day  has  been  across 
by  ferry  to  Lewis,  with  its  view  of  the  Citadel;  and  then  by  boat 
to  Sillery,  from  where  we  were  able  to  see  Wolfe's  Cave  and  the 
neighborhood,  the  path  by  which  he  made  his  ascent  up  the  cliff 
to  his  last  battlefield. 

Quebec,  9  August,  1898.  After  breakfast  we  took  Pat  Granary's 
caliche  (including  Pat  himself  and  his  nag)  and,  going  to  the 
Lower  Town  and  though  the  Champlain  road  out  to  Wolfe's 
Cave,  ascended  the  cliff  to  the  upper  lands  forming  the  Plains 
of  Abraham.  We  drove  up  the  dwindling  road  that  now  enables 
people  to  do  easily  what  was  not  so  easy  for  Wolfe  and  his  men 
—  I  declined  the  ride,  but  preferred  to  share  with  Wolfe  a  small 
bit  of  glory  —  of  going  up  afoot.  I  corrected  my  historical 
impression  of  Wolfe's  achievement  in  some  particulars.  For 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  309 

example,  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  access  to  the  heights 
might  be  gained  there,  for  the  steep  and  regular  face  of  the  long 
bluff  is  there  broken  by  a  wide  recess  or  cove.  The  bluff  is 
much  lower  at  that  point  and,  in  fact,  dies  away.  It  appears 
also  that  he  and  his  men  simply  followed  the  dry  rocky  bed  of 
a  stream  called  St.  Denis,  that  at  times  poured  down  there. 
I  was  unable  to  identify  this  stream-bed,  and  suppose  that  the 
winding  road  partly  covers  it.  Nevertheless,  the  ascent  was 
steep  enough  and  rough  enough  to  make  the  act  a  labor, 
especially  with  knapsacks,  guns,  etc.  Obviously,  too,  it  had 
been  deemed  possible  by  the  enemy  that  Wolfe  might  attempt 
it;  for  Montcalm  had  ordered  a  brigade  to  be  stationed  on  the 
ground  just  above  it,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  indolence  of 
others  Wolfe's  great  achievement  would  have  been  prevented. 

Steamer  Carolina,  12  August,  1898.  We  sailed  from  Quebec 
at  about  half-past  eight  and  had  a  charming  journey  down  the 
St.  Lawrence,  going  by  the  southern  channel  past  the  Isle  of 
Orleans,  and  greatly  interested  in  the  thirty  miles  of  rocky 
solitude  on  the  northern  shore,  in  the  sight  of  the  two  points 
enclosing  Murray  Bay,  in  the  bright  and  winsome  Riviere  du 
Loup,  in  Cacuma  seen  from  a  distance,  and  finally  in  Tadusac, 
where  the  boat  lay  from  eight  in  the  evening  until  midnight. 
We  strolled  up  to  the  hotel;  and  to  the  ancient  church,  its  founda 
tions  dating  from  1647,  and  its  walls  from  1747,  with  a  picture 
given  by  Louis  XIV.  A  kindly  priest  was  there  to  show  it  to  us 
and  to  add  to  its  revenues  by  the  sale  of  some  photographs  of  it. 

On  Steamer  Carolina,  13  August,  1898.  We  awoke  at  a  dock 
which  we  found  to  be  at  the  head  of  Ha-Ha  Bay,  and  by  about 
ten  we  had  steamed  thence  and  up  into  the  other  arm  of  the 
Saguenay  to  the  town  of  Chicoutimi.  There  we  had  an  hour, 
which  I  spent  in  looking  about.  The  cathedral  is  large,  and 


3io  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

within  has  a  stately  impressiveness.  A  new  hotel.  Tokens 
of  pre-eminence  of  the  Price  family  —  the  lately  deceased  head 
of  which  was  the  lumber  king  of  the  Saguenay.  After  the  boat 
left  the  wharf,  and  while  we  were  sitting  near  the  prow,  my  name 
was  spoken  by  one  behind  us,  who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Charles 
Hughes,  once  our  next  door  neighbor  on  the  campus,  now  a 
lawyer  of  brilliant  activity  in  New  York.  His  company  added 
charm  to  the  day's  enjoyment  of  the  far-famed  Saguenay.  The 
region  of  Trinity  and  Eternity  mountains  is  very  noble;  other 
wise  I  felt  that  the  scenery  had  been  overpraised.  It  did  not 
reach  my  expectations,  either  as  to  beauty  or  sublimity.  Still, 
one  is  glad  to  have  seen  it;  and  to  be  able  to  check  off  the  Sague 
nay  on  one's  card  of  life-doings,  as  done.  We  again  lay  at  Ta- 
dousac,  and  this  swift  steamer  had  to  loiter  at  various  places 
in  order  to  keep  from  getting  back  to  Quebec  too  soon. 

From  Quebec  to  Sherbrooke,  14  August,  1898.  After  disposing 
of  our  trunks,  we  went  to  the  Hotel  Victoria  for  breakfast  and 
dinner,  resting  comfortably.  Our  farewell  walk  in  Dufferin 
Terrace,  beneath  the  historic  Citadel  and  in  view  of  the  river  and 
island  and  distant  mountains  that  frame  in  the  harbor  of  Quebec, 
abide  long  in  my  mind  as  something  of  surpassing  beauty  and 
nobility. 

Between  three  and  four  we  crossed  Lewis  ferry  and  in  due 
time — i.  e.,  about  half  past-nine — arrived  at  Sherbrooke  and  went 
to  the  Magog  House,  named  thus  hideously  in  deference  to  the 
river  that  passes  through  the  town.  Our  ride  in  the  hotel  omni 
bus  was  enlivened  by  a  scene  with  the  driver,  who  had  crowded 
the  little  vehicle  with  people  and  loaded  it  down  with  trunks, 
all  of  which  he  tried  to  make  one  poor  horse  draw  up  hill.  Final 
ly,  I  roared  angrily  to  him  to  stop  and  let  us  out,  as  we  would 
not  share  any  longer  in  such  brutality;  and  my  voice  so  terrified 
the  women  and  children  who  had  jammed  themselves  into  the 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  311 

omnibus    that   they   all  rushed  out  of  it,  and  so  reduced  the 
load  to  its  normal  size. 

Sherbrooke  to  Bethlehem,  N.  H.,  15  August,  1898.  After  a 
good  breakfast  we  took  trips  in  the  electric  cars  to  Lenoxville, 
where  there  is  a  noted  college  founded  by  the  Anglican  Bishop 
Williams;  and  then  on  the  belt  around  Sherbrooke,  which  has 
some  pretty  streets  and  houses.  I  got  a  glimpse  of  a  new  kind 
of  a  nun  —  one  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Precious  Blood.  At  eleven 
we  left  for  Bethlehem,  New  Hampshire,  which  we  reached  after 
many  shif tings  from  train  to  train,  many  delays  at  stations,  and 
much  lack  of  nourishment,  at  about  a  quarter  of  six. 

Bethlehem,  16  August,  1898.  The  Gramercy.  A  glorious 
night's  rest.  The  day  has  been  spent  in  feeling  our  way  around. 
I  strolled  alone  toward  the  middle  portion  of  the  village  —  the 
big  hotels,  the  shops,  etc.  Bought  Sweetzer's  Guide  to  the 
White  Mountains  and  a  Bird's-eye  mew  of  them,  and  have 
begun  to  study  the  subject. 

LETTER  FROM  ANDREW  D.  WHITE    TO  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Hotel  Metropole,  Hamburg,  August  20,  1898 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

.  .  .  Now  as  to  your  book.  Like  everything  you  write, 
it  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  When  I  first  took  up  the  book, 
I  thought  you  were  doing  a  risky  thing  in  recalling  experiences 
of  so  many  years  ago,  but,  as  I  read,  I  found  them  as  fresh,  as 
profitable,  and  as  interesting  as  if  they  were  first  written  yes 
terday.  I  took  up  first  your  essay  on  Lord  John  Russell,  and 
it  wrought  a  decided  change  in  my  opinions.  I  remember  at 
tempting  to  soothe  the  indignation  of  my  students  at  Ann  Arbor, 
just  at  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  by  saying,  "Wait  until 
Lord  John  Russell  speaks,"  and  alas!  how  he  spoke,  and  how  he 
acted,  we  remember  but  too  well.  Nothing  since  that  time,  I 
think,  has  given  me  a  more  exquisite  joy  in  existence  than  that 
I  had  lived  to  hear  him  groan  under  the  Alabama  Award. 


3i2  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Do  you  remember  what  Goldwin  Smith  said  of  him?  As  a 
young  man,  Goldwin  was  frequently  with  Earl  Russell,  and  he 
told  me  that  the  great  statesman  made  on  him  the  impression 
of  "an  eminent  corn  doctor."  I  was  not  aware  of  his  refrigerative 
character  until  you  informed  us,  and  then  I  saw  an  additional 
argument  in  behalf  of  the  theistic  view  of  history  in  the  fact 
that,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  Mr.  Charles  Francis  Adams  was 
designated  by  Providence  to  deal  with  him  in  the  matter  of  the 
cruisers. 

You  remember  how  some  of  the  papers  advised,  during  a 
terribly  hot  summer  in  Kansas,  that  Mr.  Adams  should  be  sent 
to  travel  through  the  state.  Strange,  indeed,  on  any  other  but 
the  providential  theory  of  history,  that  he  should  have  been 
brought  in  contact  with  your  "peripatetic  refrigerator." 

Then  I  took  up  a  number  of  the  others.  I  think  the  one  that 
tickled  me  most  was  that  on  "American  reputations  in 
England,"  and  as  an  admirable  example  of  lightness  of  touch  your 
statement  that,  in  reference  to  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  an  American 
traveller  sees  that  "a  real  contribution  has  been  made  to  the 
general  stock  of  the  gayety  of  nations."  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  have  told  you  that  one  morning  Henry  Stevens  in 
London  told  me  that  the  night  before,  at  a  dinner  party,  George 
Grote,  the  historian,  though  on  our  side,  scolded  bitterly  against 
the  incapacity  of  the  American  generals,  especially  as  shown  by 
the  fact  that  McClellan  in  Virginia  and  Fremont  in  Missouri 
had  not  formed  a  sudden  junction  and  overwhelmed  Lee. 

I  might  pick  out  fifty  more  things  which  have  delighted  me 
thus  far,  but  spare  you.  I  would  gladly  tackle  you  on  Gladstone, 
whom  I  admire  in  a  way,  but  who  seems  to  me  the  most  com 
plete  sophist  that  ever  existed. 

This  book  of  yours,  as  the  others  have  done,  arouses  in  me 
new  desires  and  expectations  regarding  your  American  Plutarch. 
My  dear  fellow,  you  have  the  best  chance  in  the  world.  Such  a 
book  as  that,  which  I  hope  you  are  writing,  ought  to  do  a  world 
of  good,  and  at  the  same  time  increase  your  fame  and  future. 
Think  of  the  effect  of  the  old  Plutarch!  It  has  been  enormous, 
and  I  am  more  and  more  surprised,  as  I  roam  over  various  his 
torical  epochs,  to  find  what  a  vast  number  of  leading  men  have 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  313 

been  inspired  by  it.  You  can  do  as  good  work  for  Americans 
and  doubtless  for  many  outside  of  our  country.  You  have  an 
admirable  way  of  presenting  the  main  points;  you  are  brief 
without  being  dry;  and  you  have  a  genial  humor  which  carries 
your  reader  along  with  you  inevitably.  Now,  my  dear  old  boy, 
lay  yourself  out  on  these  books;  try  hard,  but  do  not  try  too  hard. 
Please  give  all  kind  messages  from  me  to  Mrs.  Tyler  and  Mrs. 
Austen,  accepting  no  end  of  good  wishes  for  yourself,  and 
with  renewed  thanks  I  remain, 

Most  heartily  yours, 

ANDREW  D.  WHITE. 

P.  S.  There  is  only  one  thing  about  your  book  that  I  do  not 
like,  and  I  think  that  I  must  have  complained  of  the  same  thing 
in  reference  to  other  books.  You  certainly  ought  to  attach 
your  professional  title  to  your  name;  first,  because  the  person 
who  picks  up  the  book  has  a  right  to  be  reminded  of  the  position 
which  you  hold,  and,  secondly,  because  the  university,  it  seems 
to  me,  has  a  right  to  be  honored  in  this  way.  Strange  as  it  may 
appear  to  many  people,  I  have  noticed  on  the  part  of  many 
American  professors  and  others  a  sort  of  modesty  such  as  our 
English  cousins  never  show,  and  in  which  I  believe  we  make  a 
mistake — namely,  the  frequent  American  habit  of  leaving  off  a 
man's  position  from  the  title  page  of  any  book  which  he  publishes, 
or  from  his  card.  The  Englishman,  who  generally  cannot  be 
complained  of  for  lack  of  straightforwardness,  never  does  these 
things.  A.  D.  W. 

Bethlehem,  28  August,  1898.  At  Echo  Hill  House  still  —  which 
proves  to  be  a  delightful  place  for  everything  except  food.  All 
day  spent  in  reading  and  rambling  in  the  neighborhood. 

Jackson,  31  August,  1898.  This  morning  we  walked  up  to 
a  higher  knoll  on  Black  mountain  —  a  very  considerable  climb 
for  novices.  Vast  sweep  of  vision  for  us.  The  top  of  Mount 
Washington  is  under  a  veil  all  the  time.  We  have  given  up  the 
hope  of  seeing  it  this  season.  We  should  be  here  later  in  Sep 
tember. 


3i4  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Jackson,  2  September,  1898.  We  begin  to  plan  our  departure 
homeward  next  Monday.  A  long  telegram  came  last  night  from 
the  New  York  world  asking  my  opinion  as  to  what  we  should 

do  with  the  Philippines.     J withheld  it  from  me  till  this 

morning  —  as  I  had  gone  to  bed.  Good  girl!  I  should  have 
muddled  over  it  and  spoiled  my  sleep,  which  was  so  deep  that 
I  ignored  a  vehement  thunderstorm  that  is  said  to  have  come 
upon  us  during  the  night. 

Boston,  6  September,  i8p8.  This  morning  I  called  on  my  old 
friend  Dr.  S.  A.  Green,  at  the  temporary  quarters  of  Massachu 
setts  Historical  Society  in  the  Tremont  building,  and  had  a  very 
genial  and  reminiscent  visit  with  him.  The  old  boy  seemed  glad 
to  see  me. 

Afterward  called  on  F.  J.  Garrison,  and  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co.,  where  I  also  saw  for  the  first  time  Mr.  Mifflin.  In  the 
afternoon  for  refreshment  we  sailed  to  Nantasket  Beach.  We 
saw  the  battleship  Massachusetts,  and  hundreds  of  admiring 
citizens  thronging  upon  her  decks. 

Boston,  7  September,  1898.  From  half -past  nine  till  about 
four  in  the  afternoon  was  attending  the  meeting  of  the  Tyler 
Family  Association  at  Tremont  Temple.  A  rather  wearisome 
affair,  in  the  most  execrably  hot  and  unventilated  rooms. 

Later  we  went  to  get  the  fresh  air  from  the  electric  car  and  were 
overtaken  by  the  most  tremendous  rainstorm.  A  bad  job  — 
that  excursion. 

8  September,  i8p8.  We  left  Boston  at  10:00  A.  M.  and  reached 
New  London  at  about  12 150.  We  were  met  by  Cousin  G.  D.  C. 
and  escorted  to  Cousin  E.'s  house  on  Easton  place.  We  strolled 
over  the  beach  in  the  afternoon  and  saw  houses  and  lands  owned 
by  the  Tylers  —  descendants  of  Hopestill,  I  suppose. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

1899 — 1900 

[Eight  months  of  the  year  1899  were  spent  in  rest  and  travel 
in  the  southern  countries  of  Europe.  In  a  letter  dated  Amain, 
April  9th,  he  wrote  to  his  daughter  as  follows:] 

.  .  .  The  individual  here  sees  only  his  own  immediate 
concern  —  is  unable  to  see  the  indirect  advantage  to  himself 
to  come  from  the  promotion  of  other  interests.  I  said  to  a 
German  at  the  hotel  that  I  was  surprised  at  the  small  amount 
of  shipping  at  Naples. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "and  the  reason  is  that  they  build  no  docks; 
ships  cannot  load  and  unload  directly  from  the  shore;  passen 
gers  and  goods  have  to  be  embarked  or  disembarked  through 
the  intervention  of  small  boats." 

"But  why  not  build  docks?" 

"Ah!  the  owners  of  the  small  boats  object  —  they  would 
lose  their  business." 

These  poor  men  could  not  reason  far  enough  to  see  that  with 
docks  would  come  increase  of  shipping,  with  far  more  employ 
ment  for  them  in  other  capacities  and  a  general  accession  of 
commerce  to  the  port. 

I  remarked  on  the  advantage  to  Amain,  and  the  other  villages, 
of  the  magnificent  road  which  at  so  great  cost  has  been  hewn  out 
along  the  mountain  rocks  of  that  coast.  It  tempts  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  tourists  to  drive  over  that  magnificent  coast 
line  highway;  and  these  sustain  hotels  and  the  other  servitors 
of  opulent  travel. 

315 


3i6  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

Yet  the  boatmen  of  Amalfi,  who  used  to  row  passengers  from 
that  town  to  Positano,  were  in  a  rage  at  the  building  of  the  road, 
and  used  to  try  to  stop  it  by  mobbing  the  workmen  and  by  un 
doing  at  night  what  the  latter  did  by  day.  Yet  the  building 
of  that  road  has  brought  a  thousand  tourists  to  that  coast  where 
formerly  was  only  one.  The  same  rage  for  particularism  shows 
itself  in  the  octroi,  which  is  Dingleyism  at  its  utmost  extension 
into  absurdity. 

The  town  of  Naples  stations  an  armed  guard  at  every  road 
of  approach  and  collects  a  tax  on  every  egg,  every  cabbage, 
every  fish  that  is  brought  into  town.  At  the  first  day  of  our 
arrival  at  Naples  we  went  out  to  Posilipo;  and  as  the  returning 
tram-car  reached  a  certain  point  it  was  halted  by  two  soldiers, 
one  of  whom  rudely  demanded  of  an  old  woman  in  the  car 
what  was  under  her  apron.  She  raised  it  and  shook  it  to  show 
him  that  she  was  not  committing  the  crime  of  smuggling  a  crumb 
of  bread  into  the  city.  All  these  officers  are  forbearing  toward 
tourists.  Of  course,  the  government  is  too  wise  to  drive  away 
such  valuable  contributors  to  the  public  and  private  weal. 

Yesterday,  before  we  came  to  Positano,  I  saw  a  cart  stopped 
by  an  officer  who  found  therein  a  small  quantity  of  macaroni 
and  a  little  basket  of  eggs.  These  he  seized  and  bore  off  in  tri 
umph  to  his  office  near  by,  apparently  to  fix  the  amount  which 
the  poor  peasant  was  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  carrying  this 
stuff  into  Positano. 

At  Naples  the  line  of  the  shore  is  marked  by  a  wall,  with 
here  and  there  an  opening  where  stands  a  soldier  to  collect  a 
tax  on  every  fish  that  is  caught  in  the  bay  and  brought  through 
for  sale  or  consumption. 

There  is  a  monopoly  in  salt  —  which  is  dear  in  Italy;  and 
in  Naples  no  man  may  dip  a  pailful  of  water  out  of  the  sea  — 
lest  he  should  take  it  home  and  make  a  thimbleful  of  salt  on  which 
he  had  paid  no  tax. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  317 

Yet  such  political  economy  has  prevailed  in  Italy  since  before 
the  Caesars.  Will  not  our  American  high  tariff  —  nay,  the 
custom  system  of  the  nations — yet  seem  as  preposterous  to  most 
of  us  as  does  this  miserable  system  of  local  greed  and  jealousy  — 
each  town  retaliating  upon  every  other  by  petty  interferences 
with  the  freedom  of  trade.  , 

I  asked  an  Italian  about  this.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
cast  up  his  eyes,  and  said:  "In  Italy  even  the  air  is  taxed." 

On  arrival  at  Sorrento  some  days  ago  we  were  rowed  along 
the  coast  nearly  a  mile  to  the  landing  for  Hotel  Cocumella.  On 
the  way  we  met  a  larger  boat  rowed  by  six  oarsmen  in  blue 
livery.  Two  gentlemen  sat  in  the  stern.  One  of  them,  with  a 
full  black  beard,  apparently  about  thirty-five  or  forty  years  of 
age,  was  Marion  Crawford.  Our  boatman  pointed  out  his 
villa,  a  little  way  from  our  hotel.  In  the  portrait  of  him  which 
I  have  seen  he  is  only  moustached.  His  appearance  is  stronger 
and  less  commonplace  with  the  beard.  Twice  we  have  stroDed 
through  the  narrow,  winding,  high-walled  road  which  passes  his 
front  gate.  This  is  in  charge  of  a  porter  who  evidently  needs 
to  be  told  to  keep  out  intruders.  I  had  some  thought  of  sending 
him  my  card,  but  have  heard  here  that  he  is  much  afflicted  with 
tourists  —  just  as  Tennyson  was  to  a  still  greater  degree.  So  I 
keep  my  card  and  my  dignity.  Besides,  lion-hunting  has  never 
been  my  favorite  sport.  The  last  time  we  walked  near  his 
house,  we  met  four  wholesome-looking  children  —  two  girls  and 
two  boys  —  with  a  governess  and  a  tutor  and  talking  pure  and 
pretty  English.  Probably  they  were  Crawford's  children. 

LETTER   FROM    THEODORE   TILTON   TO   MOSES   COIT   TYLER 

Paris,  73  Ave.  Kleber,  July  29,  1899 
MY  DEAR  MOSES  : 

Before  answering  your  letter  written  from  Folkestone,  I  wished 
to  finish  my  perusal  of  your  noble  brace  of  volumes. 


3i8  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

This  pleasant  duty  has  occupied  me  during  every  hour  of 
my  leisure  time  since  you  left  Paris.  I  have  at  last  gone  care 
fully  through  the  whole  work;  and  though  I  must  here  speak 
of  it  with  the  enforced  muteness  of  epistolary  pen  and  ink, 
yet  I  feel  rather  like  jumping  up  from  my  chair,  waving  my  pen- 
handle  over  my  head,  and  calling  out  with  a  living  and  ob 
streperous  voice,  "Well  done!" 

In  fact,  my  dear  fellow,  I  take  a  personal  pride  in  these  noble 
books  —  coming  as  they  do  from  the  brain  and  soul  of  one 
of  my  life-long  and  dearest  friends. 

How  I  wish  I  could  have  your  literary  companionship  day 
by  day  or  once  a  week  —  to  talk  with  you  of  things  past,  present, 
and  to  come! 

I  missed  you  at  once  after  you  had  fled  away. 

If  we  never  meet  again  in  this  life,  let  this  letter  testify  to  you — 
with  all  my  heart  —  that  your  recent  visit  was  a  great  refresh 
ment  to  my  spirit  —  an  episode  which  I  shall  not  forget.  Like 
many  other  best  things,  it  ended  too  soon.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours  as  of  old, 

THEODORE  TILTON. 

LETTERS  FROM  MOSES  COIT  TYLER  TO  HIS  WIFE,  RELATING  TO  HIS 
LAST  TRIP  TO  BOSTON 

Boston,  December  24,  1899 

.  .  .  The  long  journey  did  not  prove  very  fatiguing,  but  in 
one  of  the  several  changes,  I  stupidly  (and  characteristically!)  left 
my — i.  e.,  your  old,  renovated — umbrella.  I  seem  to  be  possessed 
this  year  by  a  sort  of  demon  of  benevolence  —  in  endowing  my 
fellow  beings  with  these  useful  devices  for  protection  against 
rain  and  sun.  As  to  rain,  we  are  getting  it  here  to-day;  and 
there's  less  sun  than  is  usual  in  the  glorious  climate  of  Ithaca. 
I  suppose  you  read  in  yesterday's  paper  the  account  of  the 
appalling  catastrophe  at  Amalfi  —  the  awful  rock-slide  which 
carried  the  Hotel  Capucini  down  into  the  sea,  and  with  it  all 
the  houses  and  people  in  its  track,  including  our  dear  little 
hotel  —  the  Santa  Catarina.  Perhaps  those  earnest  and  oblig 
ing  people  are  among  the  victims  of  this  new  and  most  awful 
form  of  destruction. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  319 

Besides  going  to  Trinity  Church,  where  I  saw  the  new  and 
majestic  and  almost  animated  bust  of  Phillips  Brooks,  I  have 
spent  almost  two  hours  in  walking  about  the  city  and  noting 
the  changes.  This  was  before  the  rain  came  on.  I  quite 
enjoyed  this  stroll  and  especially  the  keen,  bracing,  salt  sea  air, 
which  really  has  a  substantial  quality  that  you  never  feel  in 
air  not  saturated  by  the  sea. 

I  enclose  a  long  cutting  from  to-day's  Boston  herald  dealing 
in  the  speculative  battles  that  are  going  on  in  copper  values. 

To  me  they  suggest  danger  —  the  uncertainty  attaching 
to  shares  in  copper  mines  as  these  are  manipulated  and  played 
with  and  kicked  about  by  the  colossal  financial  athletes  of  the 
country.  It  seems  like  resting  one's  little  savings  on  a  chip 
that  is  tossing  on  the  waves  of  Boston  Harbor  —  and  may  come 
home  again  or  may  sink.  In  other  words,  say  what  one  may, 
this  is  speculation  with  vengeance  in  the  form  of  risk;  you 
may  win;  you  are  quite  as  likely  to  lose. 

For  my  part,  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  put  anything  into  copper 
stocks;  and  I  should  feel  happy  if  you  all  would  draw  out  of 
them  as  soon  as  you  can  without  loss.  As  for  me,  give  me  the 
good,  old  conservative  and  orthodox  investments  in  the  form 
of  real  estate.  Such  estate  is  real  —  copper  stocks  are  not, 
they  are  only  conjectural  —  they  are  splendid  possibilities. 
At  least,  so  it  seems  to  me  this  Sunday  afternoon  in  Boston 
town  —  the  very  cradle  and  nursery  of  copper  stocks. 

Lovingly,  M. 


Bostontown,  December  26,  i8pp 
DEAREST  GURRL: 

Well  —  the  rain  of  Sunday  is  no  more;  it  died  a  "natoral 
death,"  as  David  Harum  would  say,  on  the  eve-nin'  of  the  day 
it  was  born.  Yesterday  was  a  clear,  cool,  beautiful  Christmas 
day.  I  had  a  note  from  Professor  A.  B.  Hart  asking  me  to  tele 
phone  him  as  soon  as  I  could  after  my  arrival.  That  I  did 
yesterday  morning,  with  the  result  that  I  was  invited  to  a  family 
dinner  at  his  house  at  one  o'clock.  I  enjoyed  seeing  his  home, 
his  wife,  his  two  little  boys,  and  his  books  and  toolshop  generally. 


320  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

The  dinner  was  a  quiet  one,  the  children  being  present  in 
honor  of  the  day.  After  a  further  visit  I  called  on  Mrs.  Justin 
Winsor,  who  seemed  rejoiced  that  I  did  so.  The  last  time  I  was 
here  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Historical  Association  I  was  her 
guest,  and  her  husband  and  daughter  were  in  the  full  tide  of 
health.  I  was  glad  that  she  liked  to  talk  about  the  old  times 
I  had  had  again  and  again  at  her  house,  and  also  about  her  hus 
band  and  her  splendid  daughter. 

I  got  back  to  my  room  by  dark;  and  had  a  nice  evening 
chuckling  to  myself  over  David  Harum. 

This  day  has  passed  in  a  serene  sort  of  way.  I  had  expected 
Hart  to  join  me  for  a  trip  to  Revere  Beach  and  a  morning's 
stroll  by  the  surf;  but  he  telephoned  that  a  lot  of  people  had 
piled  in  upon  him  and  he  couldn't  come,  so  I  went  alone.  I  had 
never  seen  it.  'Tis  a  noble  beach,  but  must  be  a  very  hive  of 
plebeians  in  summer  —  overrun  by  Boston  cockney dom  of  all 
colors.  The  air  was  rather  bitter  to-day  and  I  concluded  that 
I  had  been  lucky  in  my  decision  not  to  go  for  a  Christmas  basking 
on  the  rocks  of  Cape  Ann. 

This  afternoon  I  walked  away  out  Boylston  street  to  the 
Fenway,  and  had  a  nice  visit  with  dear  old  Dr.  Greene  in  the 
superb  new  home  of  the  Historical  Society.  He  gave  me  a 
hearty  welcome  and  inquired  cordially  after  you.  On  my  way 
back  I  dropped  in  at  the  Brunswick,  where  our  association  has 
its  headquarters.  MOSES. 

LETTERS   FROM   MOSES   COIT   TYLER   TO   HIS   WIFE 

Hotel  Athenaeum,  Chautauqua,  July  j,  1900 
DEAREST  LITTLE  GIRL: 

I  gave  my  first  lecture  at  half-past  two  to  the  usual 
audience  in  the  Hall  of  Philosophy  and  was  introduced  by 
George  Vincent.  They  are  a  dull  and  commonplace  looking  lot 
of  people,  and  many  of  the  faces  had  a  depressing  look  as  of 
hopeless  stupidity.  They  were  not  easy  to  get  hold  of  —  cer 
tainly  not  responsive  to  delicate  strokes.  However,  after  it  was 
over  I  was  greeted  by  many  of  them  —  some  who  remembered 
my  former  visit.  Our  precocious  Southern  boy  (from  Florida) 
also  spoke  to  me;  now  twenty  years  old  and  just  graduated. 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  321 

One  old  lady  challenged  my  acquaintance,  but  I  could 
not  recall  her  name,  though  her  face  I  was  conscious 
of  having  seen;  and  she  had  to  tell  me  that  she  was 
Mrs. ,  now  a  widow. 

The  main  features  of  the  place  are  just  as  they 
were  eight  years  ago;  and  of  course  all  now  is  fresh, 
clean,  and  quiet.  Several  new  buildings,  many  new 
cottages,  general,  gradual  improvement;  every  token  of 
settled  prosperity  M. 

Chautattqua,  N.  F.,  July  5,  ipoo 

It  is  sizzling,  boiling,  roasting,  frying  weather  here  —  night 
and  day;  and  I  have  no  balcony  to  sleep  on,  as  I  had  eight 
years  ago.  I  do  think  Chautauqua  hot  weather  is  the  hottest 
variety  of  hot  weather  I  ever  encountered. 

However,  I  am  surviving,  and  shall  be  off  to-morrow  for 
Wisconsin.  ...  I  have  definite  news  that  my  last  lecture 
there  will  be  August  9,  5-6  P.  M.  If  possible  I  shall  leave  for  the 
East  the  same  night.  If  C.  K.  Adams  indicates  that  he  really 
desires  to  have  me  stop  at  Battle  Creek  to  see  him,  I  shall 
probably  shape  my  journey  to  go  that  way,  and  shall  thus 
be  a  day  late  in  reaching  New  York.  In  any  case,  I  can 
get  there  by  Sunday,  August  12.  So  we  may  count  on 
getting  to  the  seaside  by  the  thirteenth  of  August.  I 
suppose  I  shall  write  definitely  soon  as  to  the  exact  day  of 
my  arrival  in  New  York. 

Phew!  —  how  I  am  perspiring.  M. 

22  Mandota  Court,  Madison,  Wis.,  July  8,  igoo 
Here  I  am  at  my  own  writing  table,  in  my  own  snug  bedroom, 
looking  out  on  the  expanse  of  this  pretty  lake  —  Lake  Mandota, 
in  short. 

Things  have  taken  place  since  I  last  wrote  very  nearly  accord 
ing  to  programme.  When  I  left  Chautauqua  last  Friday, 
wasn't  it  hot?  Oh,  Jerusalem!  wasn't  it?  At  Lakewood  I 
got  into  the  Pullman  which  took  me  to  Chicago;  but  what  a 
night!  Ye  images  of  Tophet,  Gehenna,  and  the  seven-times- 
heated  furnace  of  the  Prophet!  Reached  Madison  at  12:55 


322  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

and  not  being  met  by  any  kind  friend,  made  my  way  to  this 
abode,  where  my  welcome  was  altogether  hearty.  My  room 
is  a  corner  one  and  faces  the  lake  and  is  as  cool  and  pleasant 
as  the  thermometer  allows. 

Naturally,  I  have  not  yet  rested  from  the  night 
journey,  but  shall  be  quite  right  to-morrow.  I  have  had 
a  nice  call  from  Professor  Turner  this  morning  and 
have  got  a  better  idea  of  things  as  to  my  part  in  them. 
Altogether,  my  impression  of  Madison  and  its  people  is 
most  agreeable. 

Please  let  me  know  in  your  next  whether  you  have  a  definite 
understanding  with  Miss  Vail  as  to  our  being  there  earlier  than 
the  former  date.  If  I  can  reach  New  York  by  Saturday  morning, 
what  is  to  hinder  us  from  taking  the  boat  by  Saturday  evening, 
and  reaching  Block  Island  Sunday  morning?  However,  if 
I  stop  at  Battle  Creek  to  call  on  C.  K.  Adams  I  may  not  reach 
New  York  quite  soon  enough  for  that.  Shall  know  more  soon. 
Meantime,  let  your  consciousness  hover  over  the  dates,  11-12. 
Here  I  break  off  with  dearest  love  to  the  wife  and 
children.  M. 

Madison,  July  n,  ipoo 

.  .  .  I  cannot  write  more  now  than  to  say  that  I  have  got 
well  started  here  and  expect  to  pull  through  safely.  I  have  so 
far  very  large  audiences  for  a  summer  session  —  nearly  three 
hundred;  but,  of  course,  this  number  will  soon  shrink.  The 
room  is  large;  the  hour  is  five  in  the  afternoon;  and  the  exertion 
fatigues  me  very  much  so  far. 

I  have  not  yet  got  into  habits  of  exercise,  and  the  weather 
has  been  very  hot.  The  place  is  a  thing  of  beauty;  the  people 
are  highly  cultivated  and  cordial,  and  I  am  having  a  lot  of 
calls  —  to  return.  No  more  summer  schools  for  me,  if  you 
please. 

Lovingly,  M.  C.  TYLER. 

,  Madison,  July  12,  igoo 

•  Your  letter  of  Tuesday  has  just   come   and   gladdens   my 
heart.     I  am  feeling  much  better.     Yesterday  morning  I  took 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  323 

a  run  of  nine  miles  on  the  bicycle  and  a  long  rest  in  the 
afternoon;  so  that,  with  that  and  a  sip  of  tea  at  about  half-past 
four,  I  felt  quite  fresh  for  my  lecture  at  five  and  was  not  so  weary 
afterward.  This  plan  I  shall  pursue  hereafter;  and  hope  to 
keep  from  getting  fagged  out. 

On  Saturday  morning  quite  a  crowd  of  us  are  going  to  form 
a  bicycle  cavalcade  and  take  a  run  of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles. 
The  roads  here  are  far  better  for  it  than  with  us,  and  the  country 
is  very  beautiful. 

I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  have  definitely  decided  to  leave 
on  August  i  and  go  to  New  Haven.  ...  I  really  am  kept 
very  busy  here,  and  have  to  study  my  lectures  a  good  deal. 
Must  knock  off  now  and  go  to  work.  THINE. 

Madison,  July  ij,  igoo 

.  .  .  Last  night  I  dreamed  that  you  were  calling  loudly 
for  me  to  help  you  somewhere  outside  of  this  house,  and,  spring 
ing  up  suddenly  and  rushing  to  the  window,  I  must  have  shouted 
out  very  loudly  in  reply,  before  I  woke  myself  up  —  whereupon 
I  returned  meekly  to  bed.  I  wonder  if  you  had  the  nightmare 
at  about  that  time  and  the  fact  was  revealed  to  me  by  telepathy. 
I  am  very  tired  to-day,  and  since  my  lecture  this  afternoon 
feel  almost  gone.  However,  the  weather  may  partly  account  for 
it,  yet  I  am  a  very  tired  man,  no  doubt.  ...  M. 

Madison,  Saturday  evening,  July  14 

.  .  .  No  lecture  to-day,  and  though  I  had  a  sixteen-mile 
spin  this  morning,  I  have  had  a  long  rest  and,  not  having 
wearied  myself  by  lecturing,  am  feeling  less  fatigue  than 
yesterday.  .  .  . 

I  observe  your  amusement  at  my  planning  to  get  out  of  Madi 
son  immediately  after  my  arrival.  Well,  that  represents  the 
way  I  really  feel;  for  I  long  to  be  at  rest  by  the  sea.  I  shall 
not  stop  over  at  Battle  Creek  unless  C.  K.  Adams  should  make 
a  very  urgent  request  for  me  to  do  so,  and  that  is  now  not  likely 
—  for  he  is  soon  to  leave  for  Mackinac.  He  is  said  to  be 
much  better. 
With  heaps  of  love  to  you  all,  YOUR  OLD  MAN. 


324  MOSES  COIT  TYLER 

LAST    LETTER   FROM   MOSES   COIT   TYLER   TO   HIS   WIFE 

Madison,  August  7,  1900 

It  seems  strange  to  read  in  your  letter  of  Sunday  that  the 
weather  was  cold.  Here  we  have  been  gasping  in  a  hot  wave 
which  seems  endless.  Probably  the  thing  has  reached  you  also 
by  this  time,  and  of  course  you  will  enjoy  it.  I  am  taking 
it  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  I  am  getting  all  my  arrange 
ments  made  in  advance  for  my  departure  day  after  to-morrow 
night.  Is  it  possible?  Only  two  more  lectures  after 
to-day.  Laus  Deo. 

I  am  sorry  that  you  have  had  an  attack  of  your  former  enemy 
—  the  rheumatism  —  and  hope  you  have  by  this  time  routed 
him  —  yea,  hip  and  thigh.  ...  I  expect  that  this  will 
be  my  last  letter  from  Madison.  ...  If  anything  delays  me 
seriously,  I  will  telegraph  if  I  can  do  so. 

Oh,  how  this  Madison  business  has  bored  me!  Never  again 
in  such  a  scrape,  I  rather  think. 

Lovingly,  MOSES. 

[During  the  night  of  Friday,  December  28th,  of  this  year, 
1900,  my  father  left  this  earth  life,  and  on  the  following  Sunday, 
at  Sage  Chapel,  at  three  o'clock,  his  funeral,  preceded  by  simple 
ceremonies  at  home,  took  place;  and  his  body,  escorted  by  his 
family  and  a  few  friends,  was  carried  to  that  lot  to  which  he  had 
so  often  alluded  in  his  diary,  and  which  he  had  thoughtfully  pre 
pared  for  his  final  resting  place. 

The  disease  of  which  my  father  died  was  a  cystitis,  which  was 
the  result  of  an  enlarged  prostate.  At  the  end  he  was  ready  to 
go.  During  the  last  few  years  he  had  talked  often  of  dying 
and  was  almost  superstitious  that  he  would  die  at  the  same  age 
that  his  father  had. 

A  short  time  before  his  death  he  had  written  to  his  only  sur 
viving  sister:] 


MOSES  COIT  TYLER  325 

"Much  of  the  things  I  have  toiled  for  in  life  now 
appear  to  me,  as  I  approach  the  period  of  old  age, 
to  be  mere  froth  and  scum,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  to 
give  one's  life  utterly  to  the  good  of  others,  in  the  ways 
pointed  out  by  the  Christian  Church,  is  touching  the  reality 
of  blessedness  in  living." 


THE   END 


COUNTRY  LIFE   PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


INDEX 


Adams,  C.  K.,  210,  249,  250,  251,  253, 
264. 

Letter  from,  295. 
Alcott,  Louisa  M.,  31. 

Letter  from,  31-33. 
All  Souls'  College,  Oxford,  183 
American  Plutarch,  254,  295,  312. 
American  politics,  142. 
Ames,  Mary  Clemmer,  49. 
Andover  Seminary,  8,  9,  10. 
Anti-Christian,  Desire  to  meet  an,  91. 
Apgar,  E.  A.,  Life  of,  204. 
Arlington  Place,  Washington,  61. 
Arndt,  Wilhelm,  237. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  144. 

Culture  and  Anarchy,  105. 
Assassination,  Danger  of,  71-73. 
Aubrey  House,  London,  27. 
Austen,  Jessica  Tyler,  Letter  to,  315. 

B 

Balfour,  Clara  Lucas,  25-26. 
Bancroft,  George,  88,   89,   131,   259. 

Letter  from,  209. 

Portrait  of,  210 

Bay  View,  Mich.,  Lectures  at,  287. 
Bayly,  Mrs.  Mary,  25. 
Beecher,  H.  W.,  21,  24,  49,  75,  77,  81, 
85,  87. 

Plans  for  Christian  union,  78. 

Tribune  defence  of,  84. 
Beecher,  Thomas  K.,  7. 
Berlin,  Germany,  Life  in,  224. 
Bible  not  a  revelation  on  science,  90. 
Biedermann,  Karl,  227. 
Bismarck,  Prince  von,  240. 
Boston,  Mass.,  16. 
Birth,  3. 

Block  Island,  R.  I.,  284. 
Boulogne-sur-Mer,  France,  184. 
Brawnville  papers,  35. 
Braunschweig,  Germany,  217. 


Bright,  John,  213. 

British  Museum  Library,  158. 

Brooklyn  Union,  46. 

Writing  for,  49. 
Brooks,  Phillips,  in. 
Brougham,  Henry,  54,  213. 
Brown-Sequard,  Dr.,  24. 
Bryant,  W.  C.,  81,  82,  83. 
Buckle,  Thomas,  67. 
Bull  Run,  Battle  of,  13. 
Burdett-Coutts,  Baroness,  136. 
Burke,  Edmund,  45. 
Burns,  Robert,  184. 
Burnside,  A.  E.,  15,  16. 
Burr,  G.  L.,  269. 


Cable,  G.  W.,  Letter  from,  291. 
Cahill,  Edward,  Letter  from,  71. 
Cambridge,  Eng.,  145-148. 
Canada,  Visit  to,  306-310. 
Carbondale,  Pa.,  Lecture  at,  78. 
Chambre  des  deputes,  164-166. 
Chamouni,  France,  173. 
Channing,  W.  E.,  15. 
Chautauqua,  N.  Y.,  320,  321. 

Lectures  at,  320. 
Christian  union,  Editor  of,  77. 

Severs  connection  with,  86. 
Clark,  T.  M.,  Bishop  of  R.  I.,  192. 
Cleveland,     Grover,     Campaign     of, 

I9S-I97. 

Letter  from,  267. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  33. 
Colfax,  Schuyler,  50,  52,  55-63,  74. 
Columbia  University,  Professorship  at, 
118,  120,  121,  122,  127,  128,  129. 
Constantia,  N.  Y.,  5. 
Conway,  M.  D.,  27. 
Cornell  University,  36. 

Professor  at,  79,  118. 

Presidency,    112-114,  117. 

Work  at,  179-180,  193. 


in 


IV 


INDEX 


Corson,  Hiram,  133. 

Coutts,  Baroness  Burdett,   See  Bur- 

dett-Coutts. 

Coventry,  Eng.,  149,  150. 
Coxe,  A.  C.,  Bishop  of  N.  Y.,  177. 
Creed,    Religious,  N.  Y.  tribune  on, 

128. 


Death,  3,  324. 
Degrees,  Honorary,  89,  180. 
Delitsch,  Friedrich,  237. 
Detroit,  Mich.,  5. 
Diaries,  40-41,  125. 
Dickens,  Charles,  32. 
Dieppe,  France,  160. 
Doane,  Bishop,  259. 
Douglass,  Frederick,  19. 
Dowden,  Edward,  247. 

Letter  from,  299,  304. 
Dwight,  Timothy,  257. 


Early  life,  3. 

Editorial  work,  Dislike  for,  84. 
Edwards,  Amelia  B.,  256. 
Ely,  Eng.,  148. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  17-18. 
England,  Sails  for,  23. 
Impressions  of,  159. 
Evening  post,  offer  of  editorship,  84. 


Faith  in  God,  119,  121,  122,  124. 
Fisher,  Kuno,  244. 
Frederick,  Harold,  246. 
Fredericksburg,  15. 
Freeman,  E.  A.,  123,  126. 
Freneau,  Philip,  199. 
Froude,  J.  A.,  143. 


Gambetta,  L.  M,  165-166. 

Garrison,  Wm.  L.,  18,  19. 

General  Theological  Seminary,  Lec 
tures  at,  199. 

Geneva,  Switzerland,  173. 

German  language,  Study  of,  210,  211, 
219. 

German  women,  223. 


Germany,  Life  in,  214-245. 

Gladden  Washington,  Letter  from,  n. 

Gladstone,  W.  E.,  27,  137. 

Letter  from,  299. 
Glimpses  of  England,  305,  311. 
Goethe's  Faust,  105 
Gosse,  Edmund,  Letter  from,  302,  305. 
Graduation  from  Yale,  8. 
Grand  Pre,  292. 
Grant,  U.  S.,  51,  54,  57-63,  79. 
Greeley,  Horace,  80. 
Greene,  Dorcas,  Letter  to,  7. 
Greene,  Edward,  Letter  to,  u. 
Greene,  James,  75. 

H 

Halifax,  N.  S.,  293. 

Halle  University,  232. 

Hanover,  Germany,  215. 

Harris,  S.  S.,  Bishop  of  Mich.,  220, 

224. 

Hart,  A.  B.,  319.     Letter  from,  289. 
Harte,  Bret,  80. 
Hasse,  Ernst,  236. 
Hayne,  Paul,  Letter  to,  92. 
Hillcroft,  Study  at,  96. 
Historical  novel,  Plans  for,  217,  237, 

248,  265,  297. 
History   of  Amer.    literature,   94,   95, 

97-99,  101,  102. 
History  of  the  U.  S.,  64,  75. 
Hoge,  M.  D.,  260. 
Holyoake,  G.  J.,  27. 
House  of  Commons,  137,  138,  139. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  Letter  from,  290. 
Huffcut,  E.  W.,  Letter  from,  290,  305. 
Hughes,  C.  E.,  310. 
Hughes,  Thomas,  27. 
Hugo,  Victor,  167-169. 
Huntington,  F.  E.,  Bishop  of  N.  Y., 

123. 

Illness,  14. 

Independent,  Writing  for,  23,  48,  49. 
Italy,  Taxes  in,  315-317. 
Ivison,  Henry,  31. 


James,  Henry,  277. 
Johnston,  Gen.  J.  E.,  62. 
Journalism,  46. 
Judd,  N.  B.,  51. 


INDEX 


Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa.,  268. 
Law,  Study  of,  42,  47,  48. 
Leamington,  Eng.,  150-151. 
Lecky,  W.  H.,  Letter  from,  300. 
Lee,  Gen.  R.  E.,  Surrender  of,  60-6 1. 
Leipzig,  Germany,  225-243. 
Lewis,  Dio,  14,  15,  20. 

Letter  to,  91. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  51. 
Literary     History     of    the    American 

revolution,  106,  107,  249,  266,  288, 

289,  290,  291,  294,  295,  300,  302, 

304,  3i8. 
London,  Eng.,  Impressions  of,  23,  31, 

136,  159,  245. 

Lounsbury,  T.  R.,  126,  257. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  49,  139,  140-143- 
Lowell  lectures,  115,  116. 
Luthardt,  C.  E.,  226. 
Lutheran  Church  service,  222. 
Luxembourg,  Palais  de,  166,  167. 

M 

Macauley,  T.  B.,  26. 
McCarthy,  J.  H.,  141,  143. 
McClellan,  Gen.  G.  B.,  22. 
McMaster,  J.  B.,  276. 
Madison,  Wis.,  321-324. 
Marriage,  n. 
Maurenbrecher,    Wilhelm,    227,    229, 

239-241. 

Mecklenburg  declaration,  83. 
Michigan    University,     6.     Professor 

at,  23,  35,  37,  85. 
Middletown,      Conn.,      Lecture     at, 

190. 

Modoc  Indians,  80. 
Moody,  D.  L.,  253. 
Morley,  Henry,  138. 
Letter  from,  103. 
Morley's  Manual  of  English  literature, 

86. 
First  sketch    of  English    literature, 

103. 

Review  of,  105. 
Motley,  J.  L.,  79. 
Moulton,  Frank,  93. 
Moxon,  Philip,  275. 
Miiller,  Max,  181-182. 
Mulford,  Elisha,  68-69. 


N 

N.  Y.  City,  Life  in,  188,  190,  198,  202. 
N.  Y.  State  University  convocation, 

1 80. 

N.  Y.  tribune,  Letter  to,  303. 
Novel,  Historical,  plans  for,  217,  237, 

248,  265,  297. 

O 

Olmsted,  F.  L.,  80. 
Ordination,  121,  177-178. 
Overbeck,  J.  A.,  229,  230,  231. 
Owego,  N.  Y.,  13. 
Oxford,  Eng.,  144,  182-183. 


Palmer,  Roundel,  213. 

Parentage,  3. 

Paris,  France,  Impressions  of ,  161-169, 

185. 

Parker,  Theodore,  21. 
Parkman,  Francis,  82. 
Parliament,  English.  See  House  of 

Commons. 

Pattee,  F.  L.,  Letter  from,  300. 
Patterson,  Mrs.  Mark,  182. 
Patrick  Henry,  177,  204,  205-207,  209. 
Peabody,  Miss  E.  P.,  15,  17-18. 
Peabody  Institute  lectures,  127,  176. 
Peterboro,  Eng.,  149. 
Phillips,  Wendell,   18,  19,  20-21. 
Poe,  E.  A.,  49- 
Politicians,  Partisan,  64. 
Politics,  108,  109,  no. 
Porter,  Noah,  258. 
Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y.,  13. 

Pastorate  at,  14. 
Preaching,  Love   for,  115,    116,    175, 

178,  187,  263. 

Providence,  R.  L,  Lecture  at,  192. 
Putnam,  G.  H.,  Letter  to,  94,  95,  100. 
Putnam's  Sons,  G.  P.,  Letter  to,  97. 


Quebec,  Canada,  307-309- 

R 

Reading,  Object  of,  65. 
Remenyi,  Edouard,  108. 
Richardson,  Abby  Sage,  49. 


VI 


INDEX 


Rigi,  Switzerland,  169-171. 
Ripley,  George,  88-89. 
Russell,  John,  311,  312. 


Saguenay,  Canada,  309. 

St.  Margaret's  Church,  London,  136. 

Saxony,  King  of,  232. 

Schurman,  J.  G.,  245. 

Schurz,  Carl,  53,  64. 

Self  estimate,  38,  42,  43,  234,  263,  325. 

Senate,  French,  167. 

Shakespeare,  Wm.,  152-153,  156-157. 

Simpson,  Bishop,  179. 

Smith,  Goldwin,  179,  212,  259. 

Springer,  A.  H.,  236. 

Spurgeon,  C.  H.,  24-25,  245. 

Stedman,  E.  C.,  Letter  from,  271. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  143. 

Stoddard,  C.  W.,  Letter  from,  35. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  151-153,   156-157. 

Straus,  Oscar,  Letter  from,  280. 

Study  at  Hillcroft,  96. 

Sumner,  Charles,  50,  52,  53,  54,  64. 

Letter  from,  48. 
Sumner,  W.  G.,  256. 
Survey  of  American  literature,  95,  97- 

99. 
Swinburne,  A.  C.,  250. 


Taylor,  Bayard,  83. 
Teaching,  194,  195. 
Three  men  of  letters,  278,  280,  281, 

285,  286. 
Til  ton,  Theodore,  37, 49,  70,  84,  86,  87. 

Letter  from,  46,  285,  317. 

Letter  to,  92. 
Trumbull  papers,  119. 
Tyler,  Abraham,  3. 
Tyler,  Charles,  5. 
Tyler,  Edward,  Letter  to,  n. 
Tyler,  Elisha,  3,  4,  5.     Death  of,  8. 
Tyler,  James,  3. 
Tyler,  Jeannette  Gilbert,  10,  n. 

Letter  to,  15,  16,  17-22,  30,  31,  34- 

36,  181-185,   282-284,   286,   291- 
293,  297,  298,  318-324. 

Tyler,  Job,  3. 

Tyler,  John,  5,   13,  248.     Letter  to, 

37,  48,  72,  73,  89,  99,  109,  in, 


113,  115,    120,    122,   127,  197,  218. 

Tyler,  John,  President,  3. 

Tyler,    Mary   Greene,   Letter   to,    9, 

223,  248. 

Tyler,  Nathaniel,  3. 
Tyler,  Olive,  5. 
Tyler,  Rowland,  5. 

U 

Union  City,  Mich.,  5. 

University  College,  London,  138. 

University  of  Michigan.  See  Michi 
gan  University. 

University  of  Wisconsin.  See  Wis 
consin  University. 


Vassar  College,  14,  15. 
Ver,  Mme.,  26-27. 

W 

Wachsmuth,  Kurt,  225. 
Wales,  Lectures  in,  28-30. 
Walkowsky,  Prince,  275 
Warwick  Castle,  154-156. 
Warwickshire,  Eng.,  150-151. 
Washington,  D.  C.,  Visit  to,  50. 
Webster,  Daniel,  128. 
Weimar,Germany,  242. 
Welles,  Gideon,  54. 
Wells,  D.  A.,  79. 

Welsh  immigrants  to  America,  30. 
Westminster  Abbey,  159. 
Wheeler,  A.  M.,  Letter  from,  289. 
White,  Andrew  Dickson,  8,  36,  79. 

Letter  from  112,  118,  281,  311. 
White,  Richard  Grant,  37. 
Wilhelm  II,  Kaiser,  240. 
Wilkinson,  W.  C.,  Letter  from,  285, 

294,  302. 
Williams,  John,  Bishop  of  Connecticut, 

190-192. 

Winsor,  Mrs.  Justin,  320. 
Windscheid,  Bernhard,  226. 
Wisconsin    University,    Lectures    at, 

321. 

Wittenburg,  Germany,  225. 
Wolfenbiittel,  Germany,  216,  217. 
Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  108. 
Woman  suffrage,  51. 
Arguments  for,  67-70. 


INDEX  vii 

Wooster  University,  Lecture  at,  89.  Y 

Work,  Literary    15,  38-40   42-45,  47,  Yale  Theological  School,  8. 

64-67,  71,  185,  186,  208,  210,  212,  Yale  University,  6,  7. 

235,  248,  250,  284,  295.  Graduation  from,  8. 

Workman  G.  C,  234.  Professorship  at,  288. 
Wundt,  Wilhelm,  233. 


YC   16424 


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